FROM   THE  LIBRARY  OF 


REV.   LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON,   D.  D 


BEQUEATHED    BY   HIM   TO 


THE   LIBRARY  OF 


PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


ScB 


/ 


MATINS  AND  Y 


WITH 


HYMNS 


AND 


OCCASIONAL   DEVOTIONAL  PIECES. 

JOHN  BOWRING,  LL.D. 

A    NEW    EDITION. 


BOSTON: 
TIOKNOR    AND     FIELDS 

M  DCCC  LXVIH. 


"University  Press,  Cambridge : 
Printed  by  Welch,  Bigelow,  and  Company. 


DEDICATION  OF  FIRST  EDITION 

TO 

DR.   LANT   CARPENTER. 

Within  my  infant  breast  paternal  care 

The  living  seed  of  young  devotion  planted, 

And  watched  and  watered  it  —  and  prayed  and  panted, 

That  it  might  spring,  and  bud,  and  blossom  there. 

'Twas  timid,  unobtrusive,  —  for  it  wanted 

The  guidance  of  some  mild  interpreter 

To  give  its  breathings  utterance  —  form  its  prayer, 

And  guide  its  heavenward  tendency.     'Twas  granted ! 

Thy  hand  led  on  the  trembling  wanderer,  — 

Thy  voice  spoke  sweet  encouragement  —  the  boy 

Ripened  into  man,  and  now  delights  to  bring 

To  its  old  shrine  a  springtide  offering : 

Accept  it !  'tis  the  grateful  votary's  joy 

To  blend  his  name  with  thine  in  union  here. 


DEDICATION  OF  SECOND  EDITION 

TO 

MRS.   BARBAULD. 

Thou  hast  heard  many  voices  hymning  thee, 

Who  didst  awake  their  purest,  earliest  strains ; 

Flowing  like  mingling  rivulets  o'er  the  plains 

They  water  —  till  they  reach  the  mighty  sea 

Where  time  is  blended  with  eternity  ! 

The  current  of  thy  years  —  which  age  has  crowned 

With  hoary  honors,  and  ripe  harvests  round, 

Say,  may  it  drink  some  gentle  dews  from  me 

Of  grateful  song  1  —  I  was  in  childhood  young 

And  artless,  when  to  my  dim  vision  thou 

Wert  as  a  saint,  —  and  from  thy  gentle  tongue 

I  oft  have  heard  such  truths,  such  thoughts,  as  wrung 

Tears  of  delight  from  infancy  —  and  now 

Round  thee  affection  hath  with  reverence  clung. 


TO  MY   CHILDREN. 


Two  names  I  had  inscribed  upon  this  page, 

Dear  to  my  youth  —  and  to  my  manhood  dear  — 

But  those  who  bore  them  dwell  no  longer  here ; 

They  through  the  gate  of  venerable  age 

Have  passed  to  heaven  in  heavenly  pilgrimage. 

My  smile  shall  dwell  upon  their  sepulchre 

In  grateful  musings,  —  while  I  breathe  the  prayer 

That  you,  when  called  to  life's  soul-trying  stage, 

May  find  such  guides  as  'twas  my  bliss  to  find. 

To  leave  a  memory  of  light  behind, 

As  they  have  left,  is  life's  best  legacy  — 

That  legacy  be  yours  —  and  when  my  race 

Is  ended,  at  the  general  resting-place, 

As  I  of  them  —  my  children !  think  of  me. 

1841. 

1*  6 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

Calvin  College 


http://archive.org/details/matinsvespers68bowr 


PREFACE. 


Those  who  are  acquainted  with  a  little  volume  written  by 
Dr.  Witschel,  entitled  Morgen  und  Abend  Opfer,  which  has 
passed  through  several  editions  in  Germany,  will  see  how 
largely  I  have  been  indebted  to  it.  It  first  suggested  the  idea 
that  a  similar  collection  might  serve  the  cause  of  religion  and 
virtue  at  home. 

So  much  of  serene  and  so  much  of  joyful  feeling,  so  much 
of  calm  and  grateful  recollection,  so  much  of  present  peace 
and  comfort,  and  so  much  of  holy  and  transporting  hope,  are 
connected  with  the  cultivation  of  the  devotional  spirit,  that  to 
assist  its  exercises,  to  administer  to  its  wants,  and  to  accom- 
pany its  heavenly  aspirations,  are  objects  worthy  of  the  noblest, 
the  best  ambition. 

In  attempting  to  give  some  of  the  ornaments  of  song  to  such 
contemplations,  and  such  expressions  as  become  those  who 
have  formed  a  true  estimate  of  life,  and  of  the  ends  of  living,  I 
trust  I  have  never  forgotten  that  the  substance  of  piety  is  of 
higher  interest  than  any  of  its  decorations,  —  that  the  presence 
of  truth  is  of  more  importance' than  the  garment  it  wears. 

I  have  often  witnessed,  with  complacency  and  delight,  the 
consoling  influence  produced  by  the  recollection  of  some  pas- 
sage of  devotional  poetry,  under  circumstances  the  most  dis- 
heartening, and  sufferings  the  most  oppressive.  Should  any 
fragment  of  this  little  book,  remembered  and  dwelt  upon  in 


8  PREFACE    TO    THE    SECOND    EDITION. 

moments  of  gloom  and  anxiety,  tend  to  restore  peace,  to 
awaken  fortitude,  to  create,  to  renew,  or  to  strengthen  confi- 
dence in  Heaven,  I  shall  have  obtained  the  boon  for  which  I 
pray  —  the  end  to  which  I  aspire. 

These  Hymns  were  not  written  in  the  pursuit  of  fame  or 
literary  triumph.  They  are  full  of  borrowed  images,  of 
thoughts  and  feelings  excited  less  by  my  own  contemplations 
than  by  the  writings  of  others.  I  have  not  sought  to  be 
original.  To  be  useful  is  my  first  ambition ;  that  obtained,  I 
am  indifferent  to  the  rest. 


PREFACE  TO   THE  SECOND  EDITION. 

It  has  been  suggested  that  the  usefulness  of  this  volume 
may  be  much  increased  by  its  publication  in  a  form  which  will 
make  it  more  accessible,  and  perhaps  in  consequence  accept- 
able, to  a  very  large  class  of  society.  All  good  is  important  in 
proportion  to  the  sphere  in  which  it  acts  —  in  proportion  to 
its  extent  and  to  its  intensity.  The  man  who  labors  for  the 
few  where  he  might  benefit  the  many,  mistakes  his  vocation. 
He  who  confers  the  greatest  sum  of  good  on  the  greatest 
number  of  human  beings,  is  the  greatest  benefactor  of  the 
human  species.  Mine  is  a  humble  effort ;  I  rejoice  that  it  has 
been  crowned  with  some  success.  May  the  blessing  of  Heaven 
go  with  it  on  its  forward  way  ! 


CONTENTS. 


First  Week, 
Second  Week, 
Third  Week, 
Fourth  Week, 


MATINS  AND  VESPERS. 

.        Spring, 
...    Summer,    .        • 

Autumn, 
.        .        .    Winter,  . 


Page 
11-  51 
52-  90 
91-128 
129-166 


HYMNS  AND  OTHER  DEVOTIONAL  PIECES. 


Night.    From  the  German  of  Herder, 
Morning  Thoughts, 
Evening  Thoughts  on  Death, 
Written  at  Sea,     .... 
"  The  World  is  given  to  the  Wicked," 

Psalm  xc, 

Habakkuk,  chap,  iii., 

1  Corinthians,  chap,  xiii.,    . 

Anxieties  and  Comforts, 

Siste,  Viator ! 

Blessings  of  Instruction, 

Sonnet, 

Hymns, 

Death,  .  • 

Hymns,    ...  • 

Hymn  to  the  Deity, 
An  Aspiration,  . 

Sonnet  of  Pellegrino  Gaudenzi,    . 
Sonnet  of  Salvini  —  God, 
Hymns,  .  • 

To  a  Violet,     .... 

Hymns, 

Persecution,      . 

Retirement,  .... 

Sonnets, 

The  God  of  Glory  thundereth,     . 

Our  Times  are  in  Thy  Hand, 

The  Savior's  Lamentation  over  Jerusalem, 


.    167 

172 
.     175 

179 
.    182 

184 
.     187 

193 
.     193 

196 
.     200 

203 
204-206 

207 
209-215 

216 

218 

219 

.    220 

221-222 

.     223 

224-225 

.    226 

228 
229-231 

232 
.    233 

234 


10  "  CONTENTS. 

Jesus  lives, ...  235 

The  New  Dispensation, 236 

Mysteries  of  Providence, 237 

Lowly  Praise, 238 

Preservation  implored,  239 

Voyage, 241 

Pious  Worship, 242 

Progress  of  Gospel  Truth, 243 

Death's  Ravages  in  the  House  of  Prayer, 244 

The  Rich  and  Poor  meet  together 245 

God  mighty  to  save, ...  246 

God  near  in  Sorrow, 24? 

The  Righteous  shall  be  in  Everlasting  Remembrance,  ....  248 

Help  Thou  my  Unbelief, 243 

Rejoice  with  Trembling, 250 

Mechanics'  Institutions 251 

Communion, 252 

Perpetual  Praise, 253 

Elevating  Influence  of  Devotion, 254 

God  Merciful  in  the  Mysteries  of  Affliction, 255 

Afflictions, 256 

Sickness, 257 

Recovery  of  Health, 258 

Light  in  Darkness, 259 

Joy  after  Sorrow, 260 

Temptation, 261 

Riches, 262 

Poverty, 263 

I  will  lay  me  down  in  Peace,  and  sleep, 264 

Love  of  Home,      .  265 

Home  Joys,      .  '. 266 

Home  Sorrows, 268 

Travel, 269 

Family  Meetings, 270 

Return  Home  from  Travel, 271 

Birth, 272 

Baptism, 273 

Burial,  ....  274 

Saturday  Night, 276 


MATINS  AND  VESPERS. 


-vV\A/,^yW\AAA^> 


SPRING. 

SUNDAY  MORNING. 

Thou,  whose  high  praise  in  heaven  and  earth  is  sung, 
Each  heart  pervading,  tuning  eveiy  tongue  ; 
Thou,  whom  my  soul  devoutly  would  confess  ; 
In  joy's  bright  hour  —  nor  in  affliction's  less  ; 
Whose  mercy  in  the  sunshine  and  the  storm 
Alike  is  active  —  whose  invisible  form 
Rides  in  the  hurricane ;  Thou,  whose  depths  profound, 
And  heights  sublime,  not  earth  nor  heaven  can  sound  ; 
Infinite  power,  and  goodness  without  bound  ! 
Thou  unseen  Cause,  Conductor,  End  of  all, 
We  know  Thee  not  —  yet  God  and  Father  call ! 
We  know  Thee  not  —  but  know  and  feel  Thou  art ! 
Our  eye  can  see  Thee  not  —  but,  Lord  !  our  heart 
Is  touched  as  with  thy  Spirit  —  and  even  now 

I  feel  Thee  —  feel  Thee  in  this  holy  glow. 

11 


12  SUNDAY    MORNING. 

A  peace  which  none  but  Thou  couldst  give  inspires 

My  bosom  ;  heavenly  aspiration  fires 

My  towering  thoughts.   O  God  !  what  breath  but  Thine 

Could  kindle  aspirations  so  divine  ! 

Benignant  condescension !  that  Thy  ray 

Should  send  its  brightness  through  a  clod  of  clay, 

And  raise  to  Thine  abode  —  to  Heaven  —  to  Thee  — 

The  poor,  weak  children  of  mortality  ! 

Thus  privileged,  let  my  spirit-rousing  thought, 

Which  vainly  seeks  to  praise  Thee  as  it  ought, 

Pour  forth  its  humble  strains.     Eternal  Lord  ! 

Thy  majesty  might  crush  the  embryo  word 

With  its  gigantic  presence  ;  but  Thy  love 

Gives  it  a  voice,  and  wafts  its  tones  above. 

Grant  me,  Eternal  One  !  Thy  light  to  cheer, 

Thy  hand  to  guide  me,  whilst  I  journey  here  ; 

Thy  grace  to  help,  Thy  peace  my  soul  to  fill, 

And  sorrow's  storm  may  thunder  if  it  will. 

I  am  supported  by  Thy  holy  arm  — 

The  cloud  may  burst  —  but  O,  it  cannot  harm. 

I  say  not,  "  Shield  me,  Father,  from  distress," 
But,  "  Wake  my  heart  to  truth  and  holiness." 
I  ask  not  that  my  earthly  course  may  run 
Cloudless  — but,  humbly,  "  Let  Thy  will  be  done." 
The  peace  the  world  can  give  not  nor  destroy, 


SUNDAY    EVENING.  13 

The  love  which  is  the  greatest,  and  the  joy 

That's  given  to  angels  —  to  perceive  and  own 

That  all  Thy  will  is  light  and  truth  alone 

And  bliss-producing  ;  —  these,  and  such  as  these, 

Be  mine  ;  —  the  vain  world's  fleeting  vanities  — 

Pomps,  pleasures,  riches,  honors,  glory,  pride, 

(Idols  by  man's  perverseness  deified,) 

I  envy  not.     Do  Thou  my  steps  control  — 

Erect  devotion's  temple  in  my  soul ; 

And  there,  my  God  !  my  King  !  unrivalled  sway : 

So  let  existence,  like  a  Sabbath  day, 

Glide  softly  by,  and  let  that  temple  be 

A  shrine  devoted  all  to  truth  and  Thee. 


*  SUNDAY   EVENING. 

How  shall  I  praise  Thee,  Lord  of  light  ? 
How  all  Thy  generous  love  declare  ? 
Though  earth  is  veiled  in  shades  of  night, 
Thy  heaven  is  open  to  my  prayer ; 
That  heaven,  so  fright  with  stars  and  suns  — 
That  glorious  heaven,  which  knows  no  bound ; 
Where  the  full  tide  of  being  runs, 
And  life  and  beauty  glow  around ; 
2 


14  SUNDAY    EVENING. 

From  thence  —  Thy  seat  of  light  divine, 
Circled  by  thousand  streams  of  bliss 
Which  calmly  flow  and  brightly  shine  — 
Say,  to  a  world  so  mean  as  this, 
Canst  Thou  direct  Thy  pitying  eye  ? 
How  shall  my  thoughts  expression  find, 
All  lost  in  Thine  immensity  ? 
How  shall  I  seek,  Eternal  Mind  ! 
Thy  holy  presence  ?     God  sublime, 
Whose  power  and  wisdom,  love  and  grace, 
Are  greater  than  the  round  of  time, 
And  vaster  than  the  bounds  of  space  ! 

Gently  the  shades  of  night  descend ; 
Thy  temple,  Lord  !  is  calm  and  still ; 
A  thousand  lamps  of  ether  blend, 
A  thousand  fires  that  temple  fill, 
To  honor  Thee  ;  'tis  bright  and  fair, 
As  if  the  very  heavens,  impressed 
With  Thy  pure  image  smiling  there, 
In  all  their  loveliest  robes  were  dressed. 
Yet  Thou  canst  turn  Thy  friendly  eye 
From  that  immeasurable  throne  ; 
Thou,  smiling  on  humanity, 
Dost  claim  earth's  children  for  Thine  own, 
And  gently,  kindly  lead  them  through 


SUNDAY    EVENING.  15 

Life's  varied  scenes  of  joy  and  gloom  ; 
Till  evening's  pale  and  pearly  dew 
Tips  the  green  sod  that  decks  their  tomb. 

Thou,  Father  !  hast  a  gentle  breath 

That  bears  our  soaring  souls  on  high  ; 

Thy  angels  watch  the  bed  of  death, 

Thy  torch  directs  us  to  the  sky. 

Thou  bidd'st  the  cares  of  earth  depart  — 

Heaven's  peace  is  wafted  from  above  ; 

A  Sabbath  stillness  fills  my  heart  — 

Devotion's  calm,  and  virtue's  love. 

Thy  laws  with  rays  divine  illume  ; 

Sweet  is  Thy  call,  Thy  burden  light, 

Thy  words  like  heavenly  music  come, 

Thy  promise  like  a  seraph  bright. 

And  Thou,  from  Thy  sublimest  height 

Of  glory  —  in  thy  mercy  deignest 

Earth-wandering  pilgrims  to  invite 

Towards  the  blest  palace  where  Thou  reignest. 

And  man  —  a  speck  of  dust —  may  rise, 

Borne  on  the  pinions  of  Thy  grace, 

Up  to  angelic  mysteries  : 

Heaven  is  his  home  —  his  resting-place. 

Even  as  the  seed  that  autumn's  breath 


16  SUNDAY   EVENING. 

On  to  its  destined  dwelling  bears, 

Springs  from  its  earthly  tomb  beneath, 

And  its  fair  crown  of  beauty  rears  ; 

Mortality  itself  contains 

The  germ  of  immortality, 

And  bursts  life's  cold  and  fettering  chains, 

Rising  from  mortal  bondage  free. 

Not  ours  alone  a  varying  doom, 

Checkered  with  fleeting  joys  and  cares  ; 

For  us  the  portals  of  the  tomb 

Lead  onwards  to  eternal  years. 

When  trembling  on  the  awful  bourn 
Which  bounds  life's  transitory  stage, 
Tranquil  my  dying  thoughts  shall  turn 
Back  on  the  well-spent  pilgrimage  : 
While  visions,  robed  in  glory  bright, 
Beam  through  life's  evening  shades  serene, 
From  heaven's  eternal  isles  of  light ; 
What  though  the  waters  roll  between  ? 
The  arm  that  oft  hath  saved,  shall  save  ; 
Death  has  no  terrors  now  for  me  — 
Where  is  thy  sting,  O,  where  ?  thou  grave  ! 
O  death  !  where  is  thy  victory  ? 
Methinks  I  see  the  flowerets  bloom 
Even  now  on  Eden's  vernal  shore ; 


MONDAY    MORNING.  17 

Methinks  I  feel  the  breezes  come 

To  waft  the  enfranchised  prisoner  o'er  ; 

Methinks  a  light  as  soft,  as  sweet, 

Smiles  on  me  as  the  pale  moon's  ray  ; 

Methinks  I  hear  the  angels  greet, 

"  Come  hither,  Spirit,  come  !  "  —  they  say. 

I  hasten.:  as  my  eye  grows  dim 

And  darkens  on  this  fading  sphere, 

I  see  the  smiling  seraphim 

Wax  more  and  more  resplendent  there  ; 

And  as  my  ear  grows  deaf  and  dull 

To  the  vain  sounds  of  earthly  art, 

The  music,  soft  and  beautiful, 

Of  heaven  absorbs  my  raptured  heart. 


MONDAY  MORNING. 

Thou,  Lord  !  art  all  in  all  —  and  man  is  nought : 
For  though  in  privileged  hours  his  soaring  thought 
Would  seem  to  catch  a  glance  of  Thee  — Thy  light 
Soon  becomes  dazzling,  and  he  sinks  in  night. 
Yes  !  we  are  blind  —  and  when  we  most  aspire, 
Most  feel  our  weakness  and  our  vain  desire. 
We  trace  the  comets  in  their  orbits  —  fly 


18 


MONDAY    MORNING. 


From  star  to  star,  across  the  crowded  sky, 
And,  far  beyond  what  natural  powers  discern, 
Guided  by  art,  we  nature's  mysteries  learn  :  • 

But  when  we  think  of  Thee  —  confounded,  lost, 
From  one  proud  billow  to  another  tossed, 
Our  reason  wrecked  —  the  horizon  shaded  o'er, 
We  dash  upon  a  dark  and  dangerous  shore. 

What  art  Thou,  Lord  ?     By  what  high  name,  what 

word 
Of  majesty,  shall  we  address  Thee,  Lord  ? 
God  !  awful  sound — recess  of  mystery  ! 
God  !  what  strange  notions  of  infinity, 
Infinity  of  wisdom,  power,  and  love, 
Through  the  stilled  heart  in  shadowy  Visions  move  — 
Linked  with  all  space,  all  being,  deep  and  vast : 
'Tis  a  vague  sense  of  future  and  of  past  — 
Of  things  beyond  the  stars  —  of  death  —  of  birth  — 
Of  a  winged  spirit  wandering  o'er  the  earth  — 
Travelling  from  sun  to  sun  —  of  whispering  wind  — 
Of  thunder  —  of  a  more  than  mortal  mind, 
That  sometimes  visits  man  :  —  a  rolling  flood 
Invisible  —  an  infinite  tide  of  good, 
O'erflowing  all  —  a  presence  in  the  air, 
Upon  the  land,  the  waters,  every  where  ! 
God  !    God  !  word  written  on  the  waves  —  impressed 


MONDAY    MORNING.  19 

Upon  fair  Nature's  universal  breast,  — 

Wafted  by  every  breeze,  and  borne  along 

By  every  motion  that  has  sense  or  song  — 

Splendent  above  and  beautiful  below, 

The  soul  of  all  the  universe  art  Thou  ! 

We  find  Thee  there  — we  revel  in  the  thought  — 

Forgive  the  daring,  Lord !  we  know  Thee  not. 

When  man  hath  scaled  the  heavens,  and  weighed  the 

sun, 
And  visited  the  stars  —  then,  Infinite  One  ! 
Then  may  he,  then,  though  still  unworthily, 
Lift  up  his  thoughts  and  turn  his  eyes  to  Thee  ; 
To  Thee,  whose  glorious  brightness  human  eye 
Ne'er  gazed  on  yet  in  its  intensity. 
O  God  !  I  tremble  when  on  Thee  I  think ; 
T  feel  as  if  I  shuddered  on  the  brink 
Of  profanation  —  yet  I  love  Thee  :  —  read 
My  doubting,  fearing  heart  —  it  loves  indeed  ! 
Loves,  and  would  fain  obey  —  O,  touch  the  chord 
That  vibrates  at  Thy  name,  —  and  tune  it,  Lord  ! 
To  reverence  and  to  virtue  :  —  all  beside  — 
The  vain  desires  of  folly  or  of  pride  — 
All,  all  I  throw,  an  offering  at  Thy  feet  — 
Accept  that  homage,  Being  Infinite  ! 


20  MONDAY    EVENING. 


MONDAY  EVENING. 

My  eye  looked  round  upon  the  vast  expanse 
Of  glorious  Nature  —  and  my  raptured  vision, 
Revelling  in  the  early  daybeams'  wakened  glance, 
Saw  rocks,  and  streams,  and  woods  —  like  scenes 

Elysian, 
Uncurtained  slowly  from  the  realms  of  sleep  ; 
There  the  sun  drove  his  golden  chariot  proudly, 
And  the  sonorous  ocean  thundered  loudly, 
What  time  the  waters  rushing  down  the  steep 
Lifted  their  voice  harmonious  —  every  where 
The  spirit  of  love  was  brooding  —  and  the  smile 
Of  vernal  freshness  and  of  beauty  rare  : 
There  was  a  gentle  music  in  the  air, 
That  hung  around  the  mist-robed  mountains,  while 
A  calm  and  quiet  influence  seemed  to  breathe 
In  fragrance  o'er  the  vales  and  on  the  hills  ; 
The  dews  had  hung  up  many  a  diamond  wreath 
On  herbs  and  budding  flowers  —  and  the  meek  rills 
Trembled  at  morning's  first  salute,  and  thrilled 
And  murmured  joy.     Slowly  and  silently 
The  vapors  which  the  lap  of  earth  had  filled, 
Melted  away  in  light !  —  the  all-present  Eye 
Of  heaven  beamed  brightly :  and  methought  the  day 


MONDAY    EVENING.  21 

Looked  beautiful  as  when  an  infant  wakes 

From  its  soft  slumbers — and  in  every  ray 

I  traced  the  visible  presence  —  dark  and  dim  — 

But  still  the  presence  visible  of  Him, 

At  whose  first  call  the  early  morning  breaks 

Through  twilight's  curtain.     Higher  yet,  and  higher, 

Rose  the  great  central  orb  above  our  globe, 

Till  heaven  was  girded  with  one  azure  robe, 

And  none  could  look  upon  that  throne  of  fire, 

On  which  perchance  some  spirit  sits,  and  keeps 

An  awful  reckoning  with  our  earthly  sphere  : 

For  the  Great  Eye  that  sees  us  never  sleeps  ; 

It  has  its  ministering  angels  wheresoe'er 

Existence  is — beneath  us,  and  above, 

Around  us  and  within  us,  He  has  there 

His  delegates  ;  they  watch  us  when  we  rove, 

And  to  the  oft-abandoned,  narrow  track 

Of  truth  and  virtue,  gently  call  us  back ; 

They  read  our  thoughts  —  our  actions  they  record, 

And  bear  the  transcript  of  each  idle  word 

Up  to  the  great  tribunal.     Now  the  Noon, 

Wearied  with  sultry  toil,  declines  and  falls 

Into  the  mellow  Eve.     The  West  puts  on 

Her  gorgeous  beauties  —  palaces  and  halls 

And  towers,  all  carved  of  the  unstable  cloud, 

Welcome  the  calmly  waning  monarch  —  he 


22  MONDAY    EVENING. 

Sinks  gently  'midst  that  glorious  canopy 
Down  on  his  couch  of  rest  —  even  like  a  proud 
Monarch  of  earth  and  ocean.     He  being  gone, 
All  his  attendant  ministers  take  their  flight, 
And  leave  the  dark  and  desolate  earth  alone  — 
To  all  the  gloom  and  horror  of  the  Night. 
But  no  !  for  He  who  made  that  glowing  Sun, 
Still  watches  o'er  his  children  —  and  He  spreads 
A  roll  of  starry  brightness  o'er  our  heads, 
Waking  the  stars  and  planets  one  by  one. 

So  rolls  the  Varying  day  —  and  morn  and  noon, 
And  eventide  and  night,  alike  proclaim 
The  ne'er-decaying  splendor  of  His- name  ; 
His  love,  that's  never  wearied,  shed  on  man ; 
The  never-bounded  influence  of  His  might ; 
The  never-erring  wisdom  of  His  plan. 
In  Him,  all,  all  is  glory  —  knowledge  —  light  ■ — 
Truth  —  beauty  — joy  ;  and  both  in  what  we  see 
And  what  we  see  not  —  both  in  what  we  know 
And  what  we  know  not  —  kindness,  mercy  glow 
In  the  refulgence  of  Infinity. 


TUESDAY    MORNING.  23 


TUESDAY   MORNING. 


When  the  arousing  call  of  Morn 
Breaks  o'er  the  hills,  and  day,  new  born, 
Comes  smiling  from  the  purple  East, 
And  the  pure  streams  of  liquid  light 
Bathe  all  the  earth  —  renewed  and  bright 
Uprising  from  its  dream  of  rest  — 

O,  how  delightful  then,  how  sweet 
Again  to  feel  life's  pulses  beat ; 
Again  life's  kindly  warmth  to  prove  ; 
To  drink  anew  of  pleasure's  spring 
Again  our  matin  song  to  sing 
To  the  great  Cause  of  light  and  love  ! 

To  Him,  whom  comet,  planet,  star, 
Sun,  moon,  in  their  sweet  courses  far, 
Praise  in  eternal  homage  meet ; 
While  thousand  choirs  of  seraphs  bring 
Their  sounding  harps  of  gold  —  and  fling 
Their  crowns  of  glory  at  His  feet. 

Thou  !  who  didst  wake  me  first  from  nought, 
And  led  my  heaven-aspiring  thought 


24  TUESDAY    MORNING. 

To  some  faint,  feeble  glimpse  of  Thee  : 
Thou  !  who  didst  touch  my  slumbering  heart 
With  Thine  own  hand  —  and  didst  impart 
A  portion  of  Thy  deity  : 

O,  teach  me,  Father  !  while  I  feel 
The  impress  of  Thy  glorious  seal  — 
And  whence  I  came  —  and  whither  tend  ; 
Teach  me  to  live  —  to  act  —  to  be 
Worthy  my  origin,  and  Thee, 
And  worthy  my  immortal  end. 

O,  not  in  vain  to  me  be  given 

The  joys  of  earth  —  the  hopes  of  heaven ! 

O,  not  in  vain  may  I  receive 

My  Master's  talents  —  but,  subdued 

And  tutored  by  the  soul  of  good, 

To  God  —  to  bliss  —  to  virtue  live  ! 

^Heaven's  right-lined  path  may  I  discern, 
Nor,  led  by  pride  or  folly,  turn 
A  handbreadth  from  the  onward  road  ; 
Fight  the  good  fight  —  the  foe  subdue, 
And  wear  the  heavenly  garland  too  — 
A  garland  from  the  hand  of  God  ! 


TUESDAY    EVENING. 


TUESDAY   EVENING. 


25 


Tis  now  the  solemn  hour  when  spirits  come 

To  alarm  credulity  —  'tis  now  the  hour 

When  disembodied  ghosts  have  awful  power 

To  burst  the  imprisoning  portals  of  the  tomb. 

Such  vain  creations  from  the  midnight's  womb 

Has  superstition  summoned,  and  arrayed 

In  all  the  hideous  forms  that  fear  has  made. 

Spirits  there  are  indeed  that  walk  the  night,  — 

Not  such  as  these  —  but  heavenly  tongues,  that  call, 

In  nature's  hallow'd  eloquence,  on  all, 

To  wing  themselves  for  a  diviner  flight. 

The  wise  man  hears  their  voices  :  darkness,  light, 

To  him  are  equally  momentous  things, 

And  each  a  monitory  warning  brings 

From  the  other  side  of  death.     The  sun  goes  down  ; 

But  truth,  that  never  sleeps,  still  rides  sublime 

Through  all  the  strange  vicissitudes  of  time  — 

Speaks  in  the  noontide's  smile,  the  midnight's  frown. 

Now  in  the  stillness  of  the  eve  serene, 
The  calm  of  meek  devotion's  influence, 
Upsoaring  from  this  dark  detaining  scene, 
Appealing  from  what  is,  and  what  has  been, 
3 


26  TUESDAY    EVENING. 

To  that  which  shall  be  —  from  a  world  of  sense, 
To  spiritual  worlds  ;  inviting  down  from  thence 
Rays  of  the  light  that  gilds  heaven's  holy  place  — 
I  turn  my  thoughts,  appalling  Power  !  to  Thee. 
Appalling  Power  !  Thine  awful  majesty 
Might  scatter  us  in  dust  —  but  lo  !  Thy  grace, 
Milder  and  softer  than  the  early  dew, 
Invites  us  to  Thy  presence.     Lord  !  forgive 
Thy  trembling  children  —  Father!  Friend!  receive 
Their  tribute,  humble  and  unworthy  too. 

'Tis  sweet,  in  journeying  through  this  vale  of  tears, 

To  gather  its  fair  flowers  ;  to  pay  and  prove 

Blessings  and  sympathies,  and  acts  of  love, 

And  so  to  sink  into  the  lap  of  years  : 

But  sweeter,  when  life's  evening  star  appears, 

To  see  religion's  holy  visions  bright, 

Hover  on  wings  of  righteousness  and  light, 

Smiling  kind  invitations  from  above. 

What  though  a  thousand  or  ten  thousand  graves 

Arrest  our  stumbling  footsteps  —  they  are  nought 

But  seats  of  rest,  where  the  life-wearied  thought 

Reposes  —  while  divinest  glory  waves 

Her  palms  of  triumph  o'er  the  grassy  heaps. 

Life's  journey  is  oft  wearisome  and  wild  ; 

And  there  Affliction's  tired  and  troubled  child 


TUESDAY    EVENING.  27 

On  nature's  all-composing  bosom  sleeps. 
There  is  a  land  where  everlasting  suns 
Shed  everlasting  brightness  —  where  the  soul 
►Drinks  from  the  living  streams  of  love,  that  roll 
By  God's  high  throne  !  —  myriads  of  glorious  ones 
Bring  there  the  accepted  offering.     O,  how  blest 
To  look  from  this  dark  prison  to  that  shrine, 
To  inhale  one  breath  of  paradise  divine  — 
And  enter  into  that  eternal  rest 
Which  waits  the  sons  of  God  !     Remote  from  care, 
Remote  from  disappointment,  to  employ 
Hours  never  ending  in  the  courts  of  joy, 
And  wear  a  crown  of  heavenly  splendor  there  ! 

With  such  a  destiny,  what  earthly  fear, 

What  earthly  woe  shall  cloud  my  spirit  ?     None. 

Forward,  then,  forward  to  the  golden  throne  ! 

Why  should  our  restless  wishes  linger  here  ? 

See  from  the  clouds  a  smiling  angel  calls, 

"  Come  hither,  Christian  !  —  Open  is  the  door  — 

The  path  is  straight  —  delay  not  —  doubt  no  more  — 

Lo  !  thou  art  welcome  to  the  heavenly  halls." 

Father  —  I  go  !  —  I  hear  the  inviting  sound  — 

No  more  shall  earthly  objects  dim  my  eyes  — 

Away,  away  the  world's  dull  vanities  ! 

I  hasten  on  —  to  heaven  —  to  Eden  bound. 


28  WEDNESDAY    MORNING. 

WEDNESDAY  MORNING. 


**»- 


When  Morn  peeps  o'er  the  mountain's  height, 

And  the  last  star  has  left  the  sky, 

And  dews  disperse  at  waking  light, 

And  Earth  puts  on  her  robes  of  joy, 

And  flowers  look  out,  and  woods  are  gay 

With  birds  and  breezes  —  O,  'tis  meet 

To  join  the  universal  lay, 

And  Nature's  chorus  to  repeat ; 

To  lead  the  aspiring  soul  to  Him, 

Whose  is  the  darkness,  whose  the  day  — 

Who  kindled  first  the  sunny  beam  ; 

Poured  forth  the  wandering  milky  way  ; 

Filled  all  heaven's  lamps  with  ether  ;  spread 

The  canopy  above  —  whose  hand 

The  valleys  scooped  —  the  mountains  weighed  — 

Fathomed  the  ocean  —  reared  the  land, 

And  crowded  all  with  life  and  bliss. 

See  life  and  bliss  around  us  glowing ! 

Wherever  space  or  being  is, 

The  cup  of  joy  is  full  and  flowing. 

Yes  !  Nature  is  a  splendid  show, 
Where  an  attentive  mind  may  hear 


WEDNESDAY    MORNING.  29 

Music  in  all  the  winds  that  blow,  — » 
And  see  a  silent  worshipper 
In  every  flower,  on  every  tree, 
In  every  vale,  on  every  hill  — 
Perceive  a  voice  of  melody 
In  waving  grass  or  whispering  rill ; 
And  catch  a  soft  but  solemn  sound 
Of  worship  from  the  smallest  fly, 
The  cricket  chirping  on  the  ground, 
The  trembling  leaf  that  hangs  on  high. 

Proud,  scornful  man  !  thy  soaring  wing 
Would  hurry  towards  Infinity  ; 
And  yet  the  vilest,  meanest  thing 
Is  too  sublime,  too  deep  for  thee  ; 
And  all  thy  vain  imagining 
Lost  in  the*smallest  speck  we  see. 
It  must  be  so  —  for  He,  even  He 
Who  worlds  created,  formed  the  worm  — 
He  pours  the  dew,  who  filled  the  sea  — 
Breathes  from  the  flower,  who  rules  the  storm : 
Him  we  may  worship  —  not  conceive  ; 
See  not  and  hear  not  —  but  adore  : 
Bow  in  the  dust  —  obey  —  believe  — 
Utter  His  name  —  and  know  no  more. 
3* 


30  WEDNESDAY    MORNING. 

His  throne  is  o'er  the  highest  star 
That  wanders  heaven's  blue  vault  along ; 
He  drives  unseen  his  glorious  car 
A  million  viewless  worlds  among. 
A  thousand  —  ay  !  ten  thousand  suns 
Are  darkness  in  His  piercing  eye  ! 
Thy  life  runs  on  —  and  while  it  runs, 
Vainly  to  know  Him  dost  thou  try  : 
That  is  a  bliss  for  realms  on  high, 
When  thou  shalt  breathe  diviner  air, 
And  drink  of  heaven's  felicity  ; 
For  knowledge  knows  no  boundaiy  there. 

O,  if  joy  be  here  thy  doom, 

Give  it  anchorage  above  ; 

If  thy  path  be  dark  with  gloom, 

Steal  a  ray  from  heavenly  love. 

Source  of  joy  !  —  my  Friend  !  my  Father  ! 

In  Thy  presence  let  me  be,  — 

Here  the  flowers  of  Virtue  gather, 

Blooming  for  eternity. 


WEDNESDAY    EVENING.  31 


WEDNESDAY   EVENING. 

Almighty  Being !  wise  and  holy, 
Who  hast  to  each  his  portion  given ; 
To  the  poor  worm  his  station  lowly, 
And  to  the  choirs  of  angels  —  heaven  ; 
My  faith  is  in  thy  righteous  keeping, 
Ruler  of  worlds  !  —  unbounded  One  ! 
While  to  weak  man,  in  error  sleeping, 
Thy  awful  course  is  all  unknown  ; 
Far  from  Thy  light  immortal  streaming, 
From  heaven,  —  resplendently  afar, 
Man's  ray  is  but  the  feeble  gleaming 
Of  evening's  palest,  farthest  star. 
With  hope  upon  his  path  descending, 
Life's  darkness  soon  gives  way  to  light ; 
Some  holy  sunbeams  hither  tending, 
Chase  the  dark  clouds  of  doubt,  of  night 

O,  had  our  journey,  wasting,  weary, 
No  ray  like  these  to  gild  the  gloom, 
Life  were  a  desert  dark  and  dreary, 
A  midnight  prison  house  —  a  tomb  ! 
Merciful  Being !  Friend  !  Creator  ! 
To  Thee  I  look,  to  Thee  I  call; 


32  WEDNESDAY    EVENING. 

On  Thee  I  rest  my  fragile  nature  ; 

Not  on  this  transient  world,  nor  all 

The  world's  foundations.     Thou,  who  kindly 

Smil'st  on  my  path,  conduct  me  still  ; 

Conduct  me,  while  fatigued  and  blindly 

I  climb  up  life's  deceitful  hill ; 

Smile  in  Thy  light  of  mercy  o'er  me, 

And  form  me  to  Thy  holy  will ; 

Thy  hope  shall  sweetly  beam  before  me, 

Thy  rays  my  little  lamp  shall  fill. 

Could  I  control  my  future  being, 

No  thought  of  pride  should  e'er  rebel ; 

Thou,  all  designing  —  guiding  —  seeing, 

Wilt  direct  all  things  wisely,  well. 

Disturb  not,  dreams  of  care  !  to-morrow  ; 

Enough  the  evil  of  to-day : 

My  destined  sum  of  joy  and  sorrow 

The  scales  of  perfect  wisdom  weigh. 

He  for  ten  thousand  worlds  providing, 

Yet  condescends  to  think  of  me  ! 

My  little  skiff  securely  guiding 

O'er  Time's  now  still,  now  troubled  seav 

Calm  as  the  night,  and  soft  and  vernal 

As  the  spring's  breath,  my  bark  shall  move, 

Till,  launched  into  the  gulf  eternal, 

It  anchors  in  a  port  above. 


THURSDAY    MORNING.  33 


THURSDAY    MORNING.* 

The  heavens,  O  Lord !  Thy  power  proclaim, 
And  the  earth  echoes  back  Thy  name ; 
Ten  thousand  voices  speak  Thy  might, 
And  day  to  day,  and  night  to  night, 
Utter  Thy.praise, —  Thou  Lord  above  ! 
Thy  praise  —  Thy  glory  —  and  Thy  love. 

All  things  I  see,  or  hear,  or  feel, 
Thy  wisdom,  goodness,  power  reveal. 
The  silent  crescent  hung  on  high, 
So  calmly  sailing  through  the  sky  ; 
The  lowliest  flower  that  lights  the  dells  ; 
The  lightest  wave  the  stream  that  swells  ; 

The  breeze  that  o'er  the  garden  plays ; 
The  farthest  planet's  glimmering  rays  ; 
The  dew  upon  the  distant  hill ; 
The  vapors  that  the  valley  -fill  ; 
The  grove's  untutored  harmony  — 
All  speak,  and  loudly  speak,  of  Thee. 

*  Zollikofer's  Sermons,  vol.  vi.  p,  253. 

c 


34  THURSDAY    MORNING. 

Thy  name,  Thy  glories,  they  rehearse, 
Great  Spirit  of  the  universe  !  " 

Sense  of  all  sense,  and  Soul  of  soul, 
Nought  is  too  vast  for  thy  Thy  control  ; 
The  meanest  and  the  mightiest  share 
Alike  Thy  kindness  and  Thy  care. 

Beneath  Thy  all-directing  nod, 
Both  worlds  and  worms  are  equal,  God ! 
Thy  hand  the  comets'  orbits  drew, 
And  lighted  yonder  glowworm  too  ; 
Thou  didst  the  dome  of  heaven  build  up, 
And  form'dst  yon  snowdrop's  silver  cup. 

And  nature  with  its  countless  throng, 
And  sun  and  moon  and  planet's  song, 
And  every  flower  that  light  receives, 
And  every  dew  that  tips  its  leaves, 
And  every  murmur  of  the  sea  — 
Tunes  its  sweet  voice  to  worship  Thee. 

Yes  !  all  below  and  all  above 

Drink  of  Thy  flowing  stream  of  love  ; 

Yes  !  wheresoe'er  existence  is, 

There,  there  is  greatness,  hope  and  bliss : 

There  never  was  a  mortal  eye 

Which  has  not  shone  with  smiles  of  joy. 


THURSDAY    MORNING.  35 

And  all  are  bending  to  the  spot 
Where  diappofntment  enters  not ; 
The  seed  of  man's  mortality 
Shall  on  earth's  bosom  scattered  be, 
And  from  its  germs  at  last  arise 
Fair  blossoms,  fit  for  paradise. 

And  we,  creation's  princes,  we, 

The  favorites  of  the  Deity, 

The  wise  —  the  strong  —  whose  thoughts  can  soar 

Heaven's  brightest,  highest  concave  o'er  ; 

And  hold,  above  created  things, 

Communion  with  the  King  of  kings  — 

Shall  we  not  praise  and  worship  Thee, 
Thou  infinite  Divinity  ? 
Thank  Thee  for  what  we  know  —  and  own 
Thou  hidest  what  is  best  unknown  ; 
And  kindly,  wisely,  hast  concealed 
The  future,  from  our  vision  veiled  ? 

Shall  we  disturb  the  harmony 
Which  all  creation  tunes  To  thee  ; 
Those  sweet  concordant  notes,  that  sound 
The  arched  hall  of  nature  round ; 
That  fill  the  earth,  the  sea,  the  air, 
And  reach  Thy  throne  —  accepted  there  ? 


36  THURSDAY   EVENING. 

No  :  rather  our  according  voice 
Shall  in  the  general  praise  rejoice, 
And  join  the  ever-during  hymn 
With  cherubim  and  seraphim  — 
With  all  to  whom  a  tongue  is  given, 
To  worship  Thee,  the  Lord  of  heaven. 


THURSDAY  EVENING. 

Peace  'neath  the  stars  may  fix  her  seat, 
And  bliss  look  smiling  from  on  high, 
When  spirits  hold  communion  sweet 
With  brighter  spirits  of  the  sky. 
The  earth  is  resting  calmly  now 
Beneath  the  curtained  shade  of  night, 
The  sun  behind  the  mountain's  brow 
Has  veiled  his  last  and  lingering  light. 

Reviving  sleep  !  thy  sheltering  wing 
Is  o'er  the  couch  of  labor  spread ; 
Sweet  minister  —  unearthly  thing  — 
That  hovers  round  the  tired  one's  head. 
As  calm  and  cold  as  mortal  clay 
When  life  is  fled,  earth  soundly  sleeps  ; 


THURSDAY    EVENING.  37 

When  evening  veils  the  eye  of  day, 
And  darkness  rules  the  ocean  deeps. 

But,  lighted  'neath  heaven's  temple  arch, 
Ten  thousand  stars  are  shining  round, 
And  all  on  their  imposing  march 
Thine  everlasting  praise  resound. 
A  thousand,  thousand  joyful  tongues 
Are  heard  in  heaven  when  earth  is  still ; 
And  echoes  of  unnumbered  songs 
The  vast  extent  of  nature  fill. 

O,  then  Thy  spirit,  Lord  !  anew 

Enkindles  strength  in  sleeping  men  ; 

It  falls  as  falls  the  evening  dew  — 

And  life's  sad  waste  repairs  again. 

While  mildly  o'er  the  deep  repose 

Peace  smiles  from  her  exalted  throne, 

In  sleep  a  million  eyelids  close  — 

Heaven  watches  —  and  heaven  wakes  alone. 

Preserving,  blessing,  guarding  all, 
The  night  and  day  His  smile  inspires  ; 
He  sits  beneath  his  star-roofed  hall, 
And  never  slumbers  —  never  tires  . 
No  rest  requites  His  ceaseless  toil  — 
4 


38  FRIDAY    MORNING. 

He  never  faints,  He  needs  not  rest : 
Man  sinks  to  deep  repose  a  while  ; 
God  reigns  untired  —  immortal  —  blest. 

Then  let  me,  led  by  Him,  pursue 

My  path,  from  folly's  slavery  free  ; 

Throw  off  my  chain  —  and  then  renew 

My  journey  towards  eternity. 

Be  nature's  gentle  slumbers  mine  — 

And  lead  me  gently  to  the  last, 

Until  I  hear  Thy  voice  divine  — 

"  Awake  !  for  death's  long  night  is  past." 


FRIDAY  MORNING. 

Psalm  civ. 


Sing  thy  Creator's  praise,  and  own 
Him  greatest  —  wisest  —  God  alone  ; 
He  wraps  himself  in  robes  of  light, 
And,  clothed  in  garments  pure  and  bright, 
Of  honor  and  of  majesty, 
He  makes  the  skies  His  canopy. 


FRIDAY    MORNING.  39 

The  pillars  of  His  temple  are 

Built  on  the  ocean  ;  and  His  car, 

The  clouds  of  heaven.     Th'  Eternal  Mind 

Rides  on  the  pinions  of  the  wind  : 

A  thousand  spirits  wait  His  will, 

And,  touched  with  fire,  His  word  fulfil. 

Thou  rear'dst  the  universe  sublime 
On  arches  of  unshaken  time  — 
And  wrapp'dst  this  vast  terraqueous  globe 
With  the  deep  waters  as  a  robe  — 
And  badd'st  the  eternal  hills  sustain 
The  o'erhanging  pregnant  clouds  of  rain. 

At  Thy  decree  the  waters  fall  — 
They  hasten  at  Thy  thunder's  call ; 
Down  from  the  rocky  heights  they  gush, 
And  through  the  thirsty  valleys  rush 
On  to  the  vast  receptacle, 
Where  Thou  hast  bid  the  waters  dwell. 

There  hast  Thou  girt  them  with  a  shore, 
That  they  may  flood  the  earth  no  more  : 
While  thousand  and  ten  thousand  rills, 
Wandering  among  the  mazy  hills, 


40  FRIDAY    MORNING. 

Fresh  from  their  sparkling  fountain  burst, 
Where  the  wild  asses  quench  their  thirst. 

'Tis  there,  along  the  streamlet's  side, 
The  winged  fowls  of  heaven  abide  ; 
Among  the  waving  boughs  they  sing, 
That  overhang  the  crystal  spring ; 
The  hills  are  watered  from  above, 
And  earth  reflects  a  heaven  of  love. 

He  bids  the  emerald  verdure  grow, 
He  makes  the  smiling  flowerets  blow ; 
He  plants  the  roots,  He  sows  the  grain, 
A  common  feast  for  beasts  and  men  : 
To  each  He  gives  his  portioned  food  — 
He,  ever  active,  wise,  and  good  ! 

He  bids  the  loaded  vine  produce 
For  man  its  generous,  joyous  juice  ; 
And  oil  that  makes  his  face  to  shine, 
And  bread  to  nourish  —  all  is  Thine, 
Thou  great,  life-giving  Deity  ! 
Yes  !  all  we  have  we  owe  to  Thee. 

The  life-sap  at  Thy  bidding  flows 
Through  the  young  trees  —  the  cedar  grows 


FRIDAY    MORNING. 


41 


Towering  above  the  mountain's  crest, 
Where  the  wood  songster  builds  her  nest ; 
While  'mid  the  solitary  pines, 
The  careful  stork  her  home  enshrines. 

To  the  rude  rocks  the  conies  fly  ; 
The  wild  goats  seek  the  mountains  high  ; 
While  o'er  them  the  benignant  moon 
Shines  mildly  —  and  the  night,  the  noon, 
In  their  appointed  courses  fall ; 
Governed  by  Him  who  governs  all. 

'Tis  night  —  Thou  spread'st  the  darkness  deep 
The  wild  beasts  from  their  hidings  creep, 
And  the  young  lions  seek  their  prey 
From  their  Creator  —  till  the  ray 
Of  morning  calmly  dawns,  and  then 
They  slumber  in  their  lairs  again. 

Man.  to  his  daily  labor  goes, 
Until  the  evening  brings  repose. 
O  Lord  !  how  great,  how  manifold 
Thy  works,  how  glorious  and  untold  ! 
Their  ever-during  songs  proclaim 
The  vast  perfections  of  Thy  name. 
4* 


42  FRIDAY    MORNING. 

The  mighty,  the  unbounded  sea, 
(Image  of  Thine  immensity  !) 
Filled  with  ten  thousand  creatures  —  all 
Sharing  Thy  care,  the  great,  the  small : 
The  whale's  gigantic  mass  —  the  swarms 
Of  unseen  myriads'  insect  forms. 

The  ships  the  busy  billows  crowd ; 
And  'midst  the  waters  rushing  loud, 
(He  owns  not  the  control  of  man,) 
The  huge,  the  dread  leviathan 
Sits  on  his  ever-shifting  throne, 
And  claims  that  kingdom  for  his  own. 

On  Thee  they  wait,  on  Thee  depend  — 
While  Thou,  their  ever-present  Friend, 
Provid'st  their  food  ;  —  Thy  plenteous  hand, 
Outstretched,  fills  all  the  sea,  the  land, 
With  good,  which  they,  delighted,  gather 
From  Thy  great  store,  Thou  gracious  Father  ! 

Thy  face  is  hidden  —  darkness  clouds 
The  trembling  earth  ;  Thy  frowning  shrouds 
Existence  with  its  gloom  ;  Thy  ray 
Is  hidden  from  them  —  they  decay  ; 


FRIDAY    MORNING.  43 

Thou  dost  withdraw  Thy  breath  —  they  die, 
And  in  the  clayey  valley  lie. 

Thy  Spirit  is  sent  forth  again, 
And  life  resumes  its  joyous  reign  ; 
Again  is  nature's  face  renewed, 
And  love,  and  bliss,  and  gratitude, 
Clad  all  the  face  of  earth  with  light, 
And  hope,  and  bliss,  and  promise  bright 

His  glory  shall  endure  forever  — 
His  praise  shall  perish  never,  never ! 
Rejoicing  in  his  work,  and  pleased 
With  the  proud  fabric  He  hath  raised, 
Blessed  'midst  the  blessings  He  hath  given  — 
In  heaven  directing  all  to  heaven  ! 

A  thousand  worlds  His  presence  greet ; 
The  mountains  smoke  beneath  His  feet , 
The  earth  His  presence  fears,  —  but  I 
Will  sing  His  praises  joyfully, 
While  I  have  life  or  breath  to  sing, 
In  His  existence  triumphing. 

How  sweet  to  meditate,  O  Lord  ! 

On  Thy  great  name,  Thy  glorious  word, 


44  FRIDAY    EVENING. 

In  Thy  blest  presence  to  rejoice, 
To  Thy  blest  praise  attune  my  voice, 
And  from  Thy  cup  to  drink  the  stream 
Of  gladness  and  of  joy  supreme  ! 

If  daring  worldly  ones  contemn 

That  Power  whose  glance  might  scatter  them 

I,  in  my  honest  purpose,  still 

Will  own  Thy  hand  and  do  Thy  will ; 

Blest,  blest  unutterably,  to  be 

Devoted,  Lord  !  to  truth  and  Thee. 


FRIDAY  EVENING. 

A  holy  stillness  fills  the  sky, 
While  evening  tunes  its  vesper  song, 
And,  like  a  sacred  lamp,  on  high 
The  solitary  moon  is  hung. 
Repose,  upon  her  downy  pinion, 
Lights  on  the  pilgrim's  couch  serene, 
And  holds  her  undisturbed  dominion 
O'er  the  dark  silence  of  the  scene. 
O,  then  the  spirit  loves  to  turn 
Upon  its  inward  self ;  and  then 


FRIDAY   EVENING. 

Those  hallowed  fires  of  virtue  burn, 

Which,  born  of  heaven,  ascend  again 

To  their  high  source,  —  all  worldly  care, 

All  earth's  pursuits  and  pleasures  seem 

Unworthy  trifles,  as  they  are, 

Too  grovelling  for  the  soul's  esteem. 

Then  the  Divinity  within 

Lights  the  freed  soul,  and  heaven  appears 

Like'  some  fair  star,  the  clouds  between 

Soft  smiling  through  the  night  of  years. 

Then  with  new  life  the  spirit  flies 

Up  to  its  primal,  proud  abode  ; 

Reads  all  the  secrets  of  the  skies, 

And  holds  high  converse  with  its  God. 

O,  let  me  turn  to  heaven  my  eye  — 

Heaven  is  my  portion,  is  my  home  — 

And,  steering  onward  joyfully, 

Be  welcomed  by  the  harboring  tomb. 

Thus  in  serenest  holiness 

Let  days  and  nights  roll  sweetly  past ; 

And  if  a  tear  —  a  tear  of  peace  — 

Shall  tremble  in  my  eye  at  last, 

Enough  to  think  that  I  am  Thine  — 

Enough  for  sorrow's  darkest  hour  — 

If  I  may  call  Thee,  claim  Thee  mine 

God  of  my  life  !  I  ask  no  more. 


46  SATURDAY    MORNING. 

Father  !  O,  let  Thy  light,  Thy  love, 
Guard  to  his  tomb  Thy  wanderer, 
And  when  his  spirit  soars  above, 
Be  all  his  errors  buried  here. 


SATURDAY  MORNING. 

As  from  the  vapors  of  the  east 
The  sun  o'er  morning's  twilight  steals, 
So  truth  illumes  the  pious  breast, 
When  man  his  inmost  soul  unveils  : 
When  the  still  monitor  within 
Holds  meet  communion  with  his  heart, 
And  self-approval  gilds  the  scene, 
As  hours  and  days  and  weeks  depart. 

How  wise,  departing  weeks  to  call 
To  stern  inquiry's  solemn  bar, 
And  take  a  strict  account  of  all  ! 
For  all  in  heaven  recorded  are  : 
The  talents  lost  —  the  moments  run 
To  waste  —  the  sins  of  act,  of  thought, 
Ten  thousand  deeds  of  folly  dqne, 
And  countless  virtues  cherished  not. 


SATURDAY    MORNING.  47 

A  towering  spirit,  born  of  heaven, 
And  tending  up  to  heaven  again, 
By  earthly  cares  and  errors  driven, 
And  chained  to  all  those  errors  vain  ; 
A  temple  worthy  of  a  God, 
Degraded  to  an  earthworm's  cell ; 
A  soul  sublime  —  become  a  clod, 
Dark,  heavy,  and  insensible. 

Can  such  a  reckoning  then  appall, 
To  the  heart's  secret  inquest  given  ? 
How  dreadful  —  if  unveiled  to  all 
Th'  assembled  hosts  of  earth  and  heaven ! 
Deceive  thee  not,  vain  man !  for  so 
Shall  time  .thy  inmost  self  declare, 
And  the  great  day  of  days  shall  show 
Each  vice  thou  wrapp'dst  so  fondly  here. 

Delusion  !  rend  the  shading  veil  ; 

Hypocrisy  !  come  forth  —  and,  pride  ! 

Thy  naked  form  no  more  conceal ; 

Come,  fierce  intolerance  !  nor  hide 

Thy  serpent  sting  in  folds  of  zeal, 

In  pious  words  thy  tig'er  tooth  ! 

Come  forth,  ye  long-masked  fiends  !  and  feel 

The  all-discovering  touch  of  truth". 


48  SATURDAY    EVENING. 

How  many  fancied  saints,  that  wear 

Self-gratulation's  starry  dress, 

Shall  stand  unrobed  —  astonished  there, 

In  trembling,  tottering  nakedness  ! 

How  many  a  humble  one,  whose  eye 

Scarce  dares  look  up  to  heaven's  bright  throne, 

Shall  bear  the  robes  of  majesty, 

And  put  the  golden  garland  on  ! 


SATURDAY   EVENING. 

Hours,  days,  weeks,  —  so  our  lifetime  flows  — 
Gently,  as  melt  the  vernal  snows 
Beneath  the  sun  ;  they  pass  away, 
Like  dewdrops  in  the  eye  of  day, 
One  by  one  —  till  all  are  gone  :  — 
The  mists  disperse  —  the  twilight 's  o'er, 
And  the  monarch  bursts  from  the  orient  door, 
And  the  clouds  impede  his  march  no  more. 

Such  is  the  fate  of  man  !  and  so 
His  night  of  life  rolls  by,  —  the  wave 
Of  darkness  sweeps  across  his  grave  — 
Then  o'er  the  gloomy  hills  of  snow 


SATURDAY   EVENING.  49 

That  seem  life's  boundary  —  brighter  suns 
Emerge  in  glory  —  suns  immortal  — 
Bursting  through  the  deep  tomb's  portal  — 
And  the  tide  of  being  runs 
In  living  light  —  eternal  —  bright, 
While  everlasting  ages  flow. 

Why  should  the  grave  be  terrible  ? 

Why  should  it  be  a  word  of  fear, 

Jarring  upon  the  mortal  ear  ? 

There  repose  and  silence  dwell  ;  — 

The  living  hear  the  funeral  knell, 

But  the  dead  no  funeral  knell  can  hear. 

Does  the  gay  flower  scorn  the  grave  ?  the  dew 

Forget  to  kiss  its  turf  ?  the  stream 

Refuse  to  bathe  it  ?  or  the  beam 

Of  moonlight  shun  the  narrow  bed, 

Where  the  tired  pilgrim  rests  his  head  ? 

No  !  the  moon  is  there,  and  smiling  too  ! 

And  the  sweetest  song  of  the  morning  bird 

Is  oft  in  that  ancient  yew  tree  heard  ; 

And  there  may  you  see  the  harebell  blue 

Bending  its  light  form  —  gently  —  proudly, 

And  listen  to  the  fresh  winds,  loudly 

Playing  around  yon  sod,  as  gay 

As  if  it  were  a  holiday, 

5  d 


50  SATURDAY    EVENING. 

And  children  freed  from  durance  they. 

But  'tis  the  kingdom  of  decay  ! 

So  is  the  world  —  and  all  we  see, 

The  sport  of  mutability. 

Think  ye  the  mountains  never  change, 

Nor  the  vast  ocean  ? 

There's  not  an  hour  —  but  swift,  and  strange, 

And  secret  workings  —  the  commotion 

Of  all  the  elements  goes  on  ;  — 

There's  not  a  spark  of  yonder  sun, 

Which  does  not  perish  at  its  birth  ; 

For  life  itself  is  but  the  child 

Of  death  —  and  this  life-giving  earth 

Is  dissolution's  parent  mild. 

Death  is  the  gate  through  which  we  come 

Into  the  world  —  and  every  day 

We  die  —  and  when  dissolved  away, 

'Tis  death  conducts  us  to  our  home. 

Death  hath  no  terrors  —  while  we  are, 

Death  is  not  —  when  we  cease  to  be, 

Then  death  begins.     Eternity 

Is  life,  —  not  death.     What  cause  for  fear 

Of  death  —  when  this  same  death  we  dread, 

Is  life  continuous,  and  to  die 

Is  but  to  live  immortally  ? 

Here,  every,  every  step  we  tread, 


SATURDAY   EVENING.  51 

Is  on  a  grave  —  and  eveiy  breath 
Heaved,  is  a  messenger  of  death. 

'Tis  well.     If  life  have  a  joy  worth  giving, 
'Tis  not  the  fragile  joy  of  living, 
Except  as  it  leads  us  to  the  door 
Where  life's  delusions  cheat  no  more  : 
They  will  soon  be  over  —  and  then,  O,  then, 
Rapture  'twill  be  to  live  again, 
Where  man  in  his  glory  shall  inherit 
What's  brightest  and  best  of  his  earthly  spirit ; 

And  blend  —  and  not  in  a  perishing  hour 

Beauty  and  wisdom,  and  light  and  power. 


SECOND    WEEK. 

SUMMER. 

SUNDAY    MORNING. 

Thou  art  my  glory  —  Thou  my  song,  whose  throne 
Is  built  upon  the  highest  heavens  —  and  thence 
Rollest  the  spheres  by  Thine  omnipotence  — 
Thou  art  my  song,  O  Lord  !  and  thou  alone  ! 
Thy  kingdom  is  of  subject  worlds.     The  arch 
Above  us,  decked  with  stars  as  dust,  Thou  treadest 
Beneath  Thy  feet  in  Thy  resplendent  march  ; 
And,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  Thou  readest 
The  eternity  that's  past,  and  that  to  come. 
All  time  concentred  in  one  ray  to  Thee  ; 
All  being  is  Thy  will  —  all  space  Thy  home  ; 
And  all  thine  attributes  —  infinity. 

Thou  art  my  song  !  which  from  such  thoughts  as  these, 

Where  our  poor  reason  wanders  in  the  abyss 

Of  undiscoverable  mysteries, 

Turns  from  sublimer,  higher  worlds,  to  this ; 

And  in  its  lowly  flowers  —  and  silent  meads  — 

And  gentle  waters  —  and  sweet  solitude  — 

52 


SUNDAY    MORNING.  53 

Its  valleys  and  its  plains  and  mountains  —  reads 
That  Thou  art  good  —  immeasurably  good. 

Thou  art  my  song  !  and  when  Thy  name  I  breathe 
Light  seems  descending  from  Thy  seat  —  to  bear, 
On  wings  of  hope,  the  trembling  ^worshipper 
To  realms  beyond  the  frozen  clime  of  death. 
Then  do  the  doubts  and  fears  that  overcast 
Man's  perilous  way  depart,  and  rays  divine, 
Though  faint  and  feeble,  o'er  his  pathway  shine, 
Which  point  him  to  a  resting-place  at  last, 
Whose  very  dreams  are  blessedness  —  for  he 
Who  has  been  tossed  upon  a  turbulent  sea, 
Can  by  the  distant  shores  encouraged  be. 

Thou  art  my  song !  though  in  life's  dreary  maze, 
Sorrow  and  darkness  seem  to  be  my  lot, 
And  midst  their  heavy  clouds  I  trace  Thee  not, 
Yet  Thou  art  there  —  and  gratitude  shall  raise 
Its  early  voice  in  reverence.     Shifting  days 
And  opening  weeks  shall,  as  they  flow  along, 
Leave  some  bright  record  of  harmonious  praise 
To  thee,  who  art  my  glory  and  my  song  ! 

Thy  sun  awakes  and  sets  —  the  world  grows  old 
And  is  renewed  again.     The  seasons  flow 

5* 


54  Sunday  evening. 

Unchanging  in  their  changes  — joy  and  woe 
Preside  in  turns  —  and  then  we  are  enrolled 
Among  the  slumberers  of  the  grave  —  but  Thou, 
To  whom  past,  present,  future,  are  as  now, 
Art  still  the  same  —  still  watching  —  still  intent 
On  Thy  high  purpose  —  from  the  labyrinth  vast, 
Where  good  and  evil,  joy  and  grief  are  blent, 
In  common  fate,  to  perfect  —  and  present 
A  future,  gathered  from  the  checkered  past, 
Where  bliss  shall  be  predominant  —  and  spread 
Wider  and  wider  —  till  it  shall  embrace 
All  the  great  family  of  the  human  race, 
And  give  a  crown  of  light  to  every  head.     . 
O,  may  I  join  that  never-numbered  throng, 
And  sing  Thy  praise  eternal  —  Thou  my  song  ! 


SUNDAY    EVENING. 

Let  not  your  hearts  be  troubled,  but  confide 
In  me  as  ye  confide  in  God  ;  I  go 
A  mansion  for  my  followers  to  provide  ; 
My  Father's  heavenly  dwelling  is  supplied 
With  many  mansions  ;  —  I  had  told  ye  so, 
Were  there  not  room  ;  —  I  hasten  to  prepare 


SUNDAY    EVENING.  55 

"  Your  seats,  —  and  soon  will  come  again,  and  say, 

"  Be  welcome  ;  where  your  Lord  inhabits,  there, 

"  There  should  his  followers  be  :  ye  know  the  way  ; 

"  I  am  the  way,  the  truth,  the  life."  —  'Twas  thus 

The  Savior  spoke  —  and  in  that  blest  road 

What  flowerets  grow,  what  sunbeams  shine  on  us, 

All  glowing  with  the  brightness  of  our  God  ! 

Heaven  seems  to  open  round,  the  earth  is  still, 

As  if  to  sanctify  us  for  the  skies  ; 

-All  tending  to  the  realms  where  blessing  lies, 

And  joy  and  gladness,  up  th'  eternal  hill. 

As  the  heaven-guided  prophet,  when  his  eyes 

Stretched  wearied  o'er  the  peaceful  promised  land, 

Even  as  he  stood  on  Canaan's  shores,  we  stand. 

O  night !  how  beautiful  thy  golden  dress, 

On  which  so  many  stars  like  gems  are  strewed  ; 

So  mild  and  modest  in  thy  loveliness, 

So  bright,  so  glorious  in  thy  solitude  ! 

The  soul  soars  upwards  on  its  holy  wings, 

Through  the  vast  oceaa  paths  of  light  sublime, 

Visits  a  thousand  yet  unravelled  things  ; 

And,  if  its  memories  look  to  earthly  time 

And  earthly  interests,  'tis  as  in  a  dream  — 

For  earth  and  earthly  things  but  shadows  seem  ; 

While  heaven  is  substance,  and  eternity. 

This  is  Thy  temple,  Lord !  'tis  worthy  Thee, 


56 


AT    EVENING. 


And  in  it  Thou  hast  many  a  lamp  suspended, 
3S  not,  but  lights  resplenden 
1  there  Thy  court  is — there  Thy  court,  attended 
ad,  myriad  messengers  —  the  song 
3  and  melodious  harps  is  heard, 
Sweeter  than  rill,  or  stream,  or  vernal  bird, 
The  dark  and  melancholy  woods  among. 
And  golden  worlds  in  that  -  iple  gl: 

And  roll  in  brightne  -  vast ; 

And  there  the  future  mingles  with  the  past, 
An  unbeginning,  an  unending  note. 

th  !  they  may  call  thee  what  they  will,  but  thou 
Art  lovely  in  my  eyes  —  thy  thoughts  to  me 

terror  bring:  but  silence  and  repast 
And  pleasing  dreams,  and  soft  sere:. 
Thou  wear's  ith  where  many  a  wild  flower  bio 

And  breezes  of  the  south  play  round  thy  throh 
And  thou  art  visited  by  the  calm  bright  mo : 
And  the  gay  spring  her  emerald  mantle  thro 
Over  thy  bosom  :  every  year  rene 
Thy  grassy  turf,  while  man  beneath  it  slee: 

aus  still  bat! 
TThich  even*  morn  day's  glorious  monarch  sweeps 

h  his  gay  smile  away  ;  and  so  we  li 
Gathered  in  the  storehouse  of  morta 


MONDAY    MORNING.  57 

That  storehouse  overflows  with  heavenly  seed ; 
And,  planted  by  th'  Eternal  Husbandman, 
Watered  and  watched,  it  shall  hereafter  breed 
A  progeny  of  strength  no  numbers  can 
Or  reach  or  reckon.     It  shall  people  heaven  ; 
Fill  up  the  thrones  of  angels  ;  —  it  shall  found 
A  kingdom,  knowing  nor  decay  nor  bound, 
Built  on  the  base  by  gospel  promise  given. 


MONDAY    MORNING. 

O,  sweet  it  is  to  know,  to  feel, 

In  all  our  gloom,  our  wanderings  here  — 

No  night  of  sorrow  can  conceal 

Man  from  Thy  notice,  from  Thy  care. 

When  disciplined  by  long  distress, 
And  led  through  paths  of  fear  and  woe  ; 
Say,  dost  Thou  love  Thy  children  less  ? 
No,  ever-gracious  Father !     No. 

No  distance  can  outreach  Thine  eye, 
No  night  obscure  Thine  endless  day  : 
Be  this  my  comfort  when  I  sigh, 
Be  this  my  safeguard  when  I  stray. 


58  MONDAY    MORNING. 

Unseen,  yet  every  where  Thou  art ; 
Felt  every  where,  yet  all  unknown  ! 
In  the  frail  temple  of  my  heart, 
As  on  Thine  everlasting  throne. 

Where'er  I  turn,  where'er  I  go, 
Spirit  sublime  !  Thy  light,  Thy  love, 
Are  there  :  in  ocean  caves  below, 
On  yonder  farthest  orb  above. 

Thy  presence  in  the  shade  is  seen, 
As  in  the  sunshine  ;  in  a  worm, 
As  in  a  world  ;  in  eve  serene, 
As  in  the  thunder  of  the  storm. 

Weak  are  our  thoughts  :  our  sight  is  dim, 
Or  our  uncurtained  eye  might  see 
A  sweeter,  purer,  holier  beam 
In  sorrow,  than  in  revelry. 

The  fairest  flowerets  of  the  mead, 
The  sparkling  gem,  the  insect  gay, 
From  the  dark  womb  of  earth  proceed, 
And  borrow  from  the  dust  their  ray. 

The  glowworm  sparkling  through  the  night, 
^he  star  that  twinkles  in  the  sky, 


MONDAY    MORNING.  59 

Take  from  surrounding  gloom  their  light  — 
Their  splendor  from  obscurity. 

And  not  the  vilest,  not  the  worst, 

His  discipline  of  mercy  proves  : 

His  chastening  hand  descends  the  first 

On  those  who  love  Him  —  those  He  loves. 

Pride,  power,  would  seem  to  pass  their  hours 

Basking  in  an  unclouded  day  ; 

On  them  the  dew  of  comfort  showers, 

And  crowned  with  flowery  wreaths  are  they  ! 

'Tis  false,  'tis  vain  !  those  dews  are  cold  — 
They  fall  —  but  they  refresh  not  them  ; 
And  those  fair-seeming  flowerets  hold 
A  canker  in  their  budding  stem. 

In  His  just  scales,  the  meanest  thing 
That  bears  the  name  of  man,  when  weighed, 
Is  dear  as  is  the  proudest  king 
In  all  his  glittering  robes  arrayed. 

The  wretch  who  in  the  common  street 
The  victim  of  oppression  falls, 


60  MONDAY    EVENING. 

Is  noble  as  the  titled  great 

Who  dies  in  luxury's  painted  halls. 

Men  are  deceived  by  idle  names  — 
'Tis  easier  to  be  rich  than  wise  ; 
And  wisdom  less  distinction  claims 
Than  fortune's  idle  vanities. 

But  God  the  naked  soul  surveys  — 
Its  dress  deserves  not  His  regard  : 
'Tis  worth  alone  obtains  His  praise, 
And  holiness  His  bright  reward. 


MONDAY  EVENING. 

The  evening  twilight  gently  dies  ; 
The  air  is  cool ;  the  silent  night 
Serenely  reigns  ;  the  curtained  skies 
To  contemplation's  shrine  invite  ; 

The  labors  of  the  day  are  done  : 
That  man  how  exquisitely  blest, 
Who,  with  the  calm  declining  sun, 
Is  shrouded  in  untroubled  rest ! 


MONDAY    EVENING.  61 

Thrice  blest,  who  steals  'neath  twilight's  smile, 

Tranquil  as  yon  fair  arch  above, 

To  sleep,  securely  sleep,  a  while, 

In  the  kind  arms  of  heavenly  love  ; 

With  no  reproaching  voice  within, 

To  break  upon  the  calm  of  bliss  ; 

As  evening's  earliest  dew  serene, 

And  gentle  as  the  twilight  is. 

The  sun  of  virtue,  while  it  glows 
Resplendent  in  its  midday  power, 
An  ever-during  radiance  throws 
On  eveiy  distant  future  hour  : 
'Tis  like  the  rose,  whose  beauties  fade, 
But  whose  sweet  odors,  saved  by  art, 
A  sphere  of  wider  space  pervade, 
A  fragrance  more  condensed  impart. 

O,  wretched  he  whose  vanished  past 
No  sunshine  for  the  future  leaves  ; 
Whose  present  is  a  joyless  waste, 
Where  gloomy  disappointment  grieves 
O'er  pleasures  palled  —  o'er  hopes  destroyed  — 
Time  wasted  —  tales  buried — life 
Trifled  —  neglected  —  unenjoyed  — 
'Midst  folly's  whims  and  passion's  strife. 
6 


62  MONDAY    EVENING. 

And  life  is  such  a  flitting  thing, 

And  joy  is  such  a  glancing  star, 

And  such  vain  sprites,  on  shadowy  wing, 

The  train  of  earth's  delusions  are, 

That  he  who  builds  his  towering  schemes 

On  surge-like  bases  such  as  these, 

Rears  but  a  pyramid  of  dreams 

Upon  the  ever-shifting  seas. 

Alas  !  the  brightest  and  the  best 
Of  earthly  pleasures  soon  decay  ; 
The  sweetest  and  the  loveliest 
Glide,  like  a  passing  breeze,  away. 
Yes  !  e'en  like  nature's  fairest  birth, 
The  flowerets  blushing  through  the  dew, 
The  rude  wind  sweeps  them  from  the  earth 
But  not,  like  flowers,  to  smile  anew. 

E'en  like  the  felled,  the  fallen  tree, 
That,  east  or  west,  in  ruin  lies  — 
Crushed  by  the  stroke  of  destiny, 
Man,  with  the  dull  dust  blended,  dies. 
But  he  shall  from  that  bed  arise, 
Renewed  by  heaven's  eternal  spring, 
And  in  the  garden  of  the  skies 
Bloom  in  eternal  blossoming. 


TUESDAY    MORNING.  63 


TUESDAY   MORNING. 


How  wisely  is  the  stream  of  life  controlled 

In  its  mild  course  —  exhausted,  and  renewed  ; 

When  toiling  day  its  hurried  tide  has  rolled, 

Comes  night's  sweet  season  ;  —  a  vicissitude 

Of  labor  and  of  rest,  —  the  day  rays  shine 

Upon  the  mountains,  —  and  I  live  again  : 

Yet  blest  it  is  our  spirits  to  resign 

To  the  calm  influence  of  midnight's  reign. 

Land  of  pure  freedom — kingdom  of  repose  ! 

I  lay  and  slept  —  the  day  had  hid  his  beam, 

And  my  tired  spirit  at  the  evening's  close 

Slept  with  the  sun  —  while  many  a  lovely  dream 

Played  with  my  wandering  intellect,  and  spread 

Its  softened  coloring  round  me,  —  and  I  breathed 

In  new  existence,  by  bright  fancy  led 

To  realms  in  which  eternal  garlands  wreathed 

Th'  enfranchised  spirit.     What  a  blessedness, 

Though  for  a  moment  only,  to  take  wing 

To  the  fair  regions  of  eternal  peace, 

The  paradise  of  everlasting  spring, 

Whose  life  source  is  immortal  !     E'en  this  world 

Were  a  most  privileged,  most  bright  abode, 

If  hence  —  imagination's  wings  unfurled 


64  TUESDAY    MORNING. 

Could  sometimes  waft  th'  aspiring  soul  to  God. 
Man's  hopes  and  fears  may  seem  confined,  to  him 
Whose  vision  stretches  not  o'er  mortal  things  ; 
But  the.  most  distant  star's  invisible  beam, 
Or  comet  in  his  farthest  journeyings, 
Or  all  th'  extent  which  philosophic  ken 
Has  given  to  infinite  space,  th'  elastic  soul 
Springs  over  ;  these,  and  more  than  these,  in  vain 
Her  free  and  untired  wanderings  would  control. 
At  will,  she  travels  on  from  sun  to  sun  — 
System  to  system  —  peoples  as  she  flies 
Unnumbered  stars  —  an  all-creating  one  ! 
Dives  into  nature's  deepest  mysteries  , 
Unlocks  the  gates  of  death,  and  holds  communion 
With  spirits  of  the  tomb  ;  and  yet  this  spark, 
So  bright  and  beautiful,  is  held  in  union 
With  mortal  clay,  —  unintellectual,  dark, 
And  seems  to  perish.     It  can  perish  never. 
Born  of  the  heavens,  again  to  heaven  it  speeds 
To  dwell  in  its  own  home  —  to  shine  forever, 
Divested  of  its  dull  and  mortal  weeds. 
Great  Being !  who  hast  placed  Thy  pilgrim  here, 
In  the  dull  twilight  of  this  shadow  land, 
O,  lead  me  to  that  brighter,  better  sphere, 
'Neath  the  mild  influence  of  Thy  guiding  hand. 
Let  me  partake  Thy  gifts,  Thy  gifts  improve  ; 


TUESDAY    EVENING. 

Enjoy  Thy  sunshine  here,  and  pluck  the  flowers 

Strewed  on  my  path  by  Thy  benignant  love  ; 

Inhale  the  freshness  of  the  morning  hours, 

The  fragrance  of  the  evening  breeze  ;  and  see 

In  all  things  Thy  directing  spirit,  Lord  ! 

Thou  in  all  nature  visible  —  all  in  Thee  : 

And  hear  Thy  voice,  Thine  all-impressive  word, 

In  every  sound  of  air,  or  earth,  or  sea  ; 

For  all,  O  God  !  are  pregnant  with  Thy  praise  ; 

And  I  thus  join  the  general  harmony, 

And  my  low  song  of  grateful  worship  raise. 


TUESDAY   EVENING. 

To  Thee,  my  God  !  to  Thee  I  bring 

The  evening's  grateful  offering  ; 

From  Thee,  the  source  of  joy  above, 

Flow  everlasting  streams  of  love  ; 

And  all  the  rays  of  light  that  shine, 

And  bless  creation,  Lord  !  are  Thine.  < 

From  the  green  valley,  glad  and  gay, 
Among  whose  flowers  the  zephyrs  play, 
Up  to  the  azure  hill,  whose  height 
And  distance  bound  the  far-stretched  sight, 


66  TUESDAY    EVENING. 

Rearing  its  proud  head  silently,  — 
All,  all  is  eloquent  with  Thee. 

And  from  the  little  worm,  whose  light 
Shines  palely  through  the  shades  of  night, 
Up  to  the  sparkling  stars  that  run 
Their  evening  rounds  —  or  glorious  sun, 
Rolling  his  car  to  twilight's  rest,  — 
All,  all  in  Thee  is  bright  and  blest. 

The  morn,  when  stepping  down  the  hills  — 
The  noon,  which  all  creation  fills 
With  glory  —  evening's  placid  fall  — 
The  twilight  —  and  the  raven  pall 
Of  midnight  —  all  alike  proclaim 
Thy  great,  Thine  all-impressive  name. 

When  in  the  darkness  deep  and  dull, 

The  shining  stars  look  beautiful  ; 

When  the  blue  heavens  that  we  behcM 

Are  sprinkled  o'er  with  living  gold 

And  the  calm  breeze  speaks  whisperingly  — 

We  hold  communion,  Lord  !  with  Thee. 

A  thousand  suns  around  us  rise, 
As  bright  as  lamps  of  paradise  ; 
While  countless  stars,  commingling,  play 


TUESDAY   EVENING. 

In  yonder  devious  milky  way  ; 
And  the  tall  hills  and  valleys  deep 
Are  wrapped  in  calm  and  solemn  sleep. 

And  softly  sink  night's  shades  again 
Upon  the  shifting  tents  of  men ; 
And  welcome  is  the  evening  hour, 
And  sweet  the  midnight's  magic  power, 
Which  through  the  silence  of  the  air 
Visits  the  heart,  and  triumphs  there. 

Tis  still,  and  darkness'  mild  control 
Revives,  renews  the  wearied  soul ; 
Its  mild,  benignant  influence 
Strengthens  again  th'  exhausted  sense ; 
And  when  the  morning  twilight  breaks, 
A  re-created  man  awakes. 

On  the  green  branch  the  slumbering  bird 
Broods  calmly  —  in  the  woods  is  heard 
Nor  voice  nor  echo  —  silent  all, 
Except  the  untired  waterfall, 
That  seems  to  glide  more  sweetly  on, 
Because  its  song  is  heard  alone. 

But  over  all  —  above,  below, 

We  see  Thee  —  ever-present  Thou  > 


68  WEDNESDAY    MORNING. 

In  eveiy  wandering  rill  that  flows, 

In  every  gentle  breeze  that  blows, 

In  every  rising,  setting  sun, 

We  trace  Thee  —  own  Thee  —  holy  One  ! 

Yes  !  in  the  midday's  fervid  beams, 

And  in  the  midnight's  shadowy  dreams, 

In  action  and  repose,  we  see, 

We  recognize  and  worship  Thee  ; 

To  Thee  our  worthiest  songs  would  give, 

And  in  Thee  die,  and  to  Thee  live. 


WEDNESDAY   MORNING. 

Father  !  at  whose  awakening  nod 
The  early  daybreak  gilds  the  hills  ; 
'Tis  Thine  almighty  mandate,  God ! 
Which  mountain,  valley,  sea  and  sod, 
With  light  and  joy  and  glory  fills. 

To  Thee  my  spirit  fain  would  soar, 
To  Thee  my  trusting  eye  would  look, 
In  holiest  confidence  adore, 
And  read  with  sweetest  pleasure  o'er 
Nature's  impressive,  varied  book. 


WEDNESDAY   MORNING.  69 

Tis  Thy  benignant  hand  that  sheds 

Its  light,  its  wisdom  through  our  breast , 

And,  like  a  gentle  shepherd,  leads 

Thy  wandering  flocks  through  fruitful  meads, 

To  the  calm  fold  of  peace  and  rest. 

The  peace  which  earth  hath  never  given, 
The  pure,  self-sacrificing  love, 
The  joy  which  flows  alone  from  heaven, 
The  silent  bliss,  like  summer's  even, 
The  hope  which  has  its  shrine  above  ;  — 

All  these,  and  more  than  these,  are  Thine  ! 
The  truth,  which  has  its  source  in  Thee, 
Who  art  all  truth  !  the  strength  divine 
Of  virtue,  and  the  golden  mine 
Of  dignified  humanity. 

These  are  Thy  gifts ;  and  these  shall  be 
My  pure,  habitual  offering ; 
Accept,  great  God  of  purity ! 
Accept,  forgive  benignantly, 
The  imperfect  tribute  that  I  bring. 

Lord !  when  I  seek  Thy  face,  I  feel 
I  am  but  dust  —  the  sprinkled  dew 


70  WEDNESDAY    MORNING. 

Of  morning,  —  but  the  towering  will 
That  soars  to  heaven,  is  heavenly  still  — 
And  man,  though  clay,  is  spirit  too. 

Yes  !  I  can  feel  that,  though  a  clod 
Of  the  dark  vale,  there  is  a  sense 
Of  better  things  —  the  fit  abode 
Of  something  tending  up  to  God — 
A  germ  of  pure  intelligence. 

I  know  not  how  th'  Eternal  hand 

Has  moulded  man  —  but  this  I  know, 

That  while  'midst  earth's  strange  scenes  I  stand, 

Bright  visions  of  a  better  land 

Go  with  me  still,  where'er  I  go. 

And  surely  dreams  so  pure,  so  sweet, 
Friendly  to  hope  and  joy  and  worth, 
Are  not  the  phantoms  of  deceit, 
Delusions  sent  to  blind,  to  cheat 
The  weary,  wandering  sons  of  earth. 

No  !  no  such  dazzling  errors  these, 
As  when  in  Zara's  deserts  vast, 
The  exhausted,  panting  traveller  sees 
Bright  lakes,  that  mock  his  miseries, 
And  nrove  but  burning  sands  at  last. 


WEDNESDAY    EVENING.  71 

If  in  the  breast  of  man  there  be 

(And  sure  as  he  exists  there  is) 

The  seed  of  immortality, 

Who  bids  it  grow  there  ?     Who  but  He 

Who  destined  him  to  endless  bliss. 

My  God  !  we  are  Thine  offspring  —  time 
Is  but  our  infancy  —  the  earth 
Our  cradle  —  but  our  home  's  a  clime 
Eternal,  sorrowless,  sublime  — 
Heaven  is  the  country  of  our  birth ! 


WEDNESDAY   EVENING. 

The  day  is  past,  night's  gentle  power  renews 

Its  holy  influence  o'er  created  things  ; 

The  earth  is  bathed  in  evening's  gentle  dews, 

And  over  man  sleep  waves  its  plumy  wings. 

So  rolls  life's  day  of  brightness  —  and  its  eve 

Comes  softly  stealing,  when  the  pilgrim  tires  ; 

We  rest  upon  earth's  silent  lap,  and  leave 

Its  busy  cares,  to  sleep  where  slept  our  sires. 

Lo !  that  sweet  infant  on  its  mother's  breast ! 

The  proud  world  smiles  around  him,  glad  and  gay  ; 


72  WEDNESDAY   EVENING. 

But  soon  that  bosom  will  be  soothed  to  rest  — 
And  death  shall  sweep  that  laughing  child  away. 
No  place  is  crowded  like  the  peopled  tomb ; 
Death  from  his  victories  reposes  never  ; 
Each  moment 's  pregnant  with  some  mortal's  doom, 
And  hearts  are  breaking  —  myriads  mourning  ever. 

Thou  God  of  life  !  thou  Arbiter  of  death  ! 

Thou  wip'st  the  death  sweat  from  the  cold  pale  brow 

Thou  listenest  to  the  last  departing  breath, 

And  linkest  our  hereafter  to  our  now. 

O  let  that  now  roll  tranquilly  along, 

Gilded  by  that  hereafter.     Spirit  of  love  ! 

Let  Thy  kind  angels  round  my  footsteps  throng, 

And  point  my  hopes,  my  thoughts,  my  prayers  above  ; 

And  in  the  bed  of  sickness  —  or  the  tomb 

Of  desolation,  when  my  ashes  rest  — 

There  may  these  holy  visitations  come, 

Ministering  spirits  from  their  regions  blest. 

And  while  I  linger  in  this  forest  dark 

Of  mortal  life,  let  my  aspiring  eye 

Catch  from  the  heavenly  world  one  smiling  spark 

To  light  my  onward  pilgrimage  on  high. 

Dull  is  the  lightning  to  the  meanest  beam, 

Which  e'en  from  heaven's  extremest  bound  is  driven . 


THURSDAY    MORNING.  73 

The  sun  is  darkness  to  one  ray  from  Him 
Who  kindled  all  the  fires  of  earth  and  heaven. 
All-kind,  all-holy  Father  !  Thou,  whose  grace 
•Illumined  every  star  that's  hung  in  air  ; 
Guardian  of  nature  !  Thou  whose  glorious  face 
Is  shadowed  forth  in  all  that's  bright  or  fair ! 
There  are  ten  thousand  blessed  spirits  that  roam 
O'er  this  dark  world  —  and  voices  numberless  — 
We  hear  them,  but  we  know  not  whence  they  come  ; 
Ten  thousand  golden  harps  are  strung,  and  bless 
With  their  soft  music  the  delighted  ear  — 
It  is  from  heaven,  and  heavenly  is  its  tone  — 
"  Holy  !  "  they  cry  —  those  choirs  of  angels  hear ! 
"  Thrice  holy  One  !  "  they  sing,  "  Thrice  holy  One  !  " 


THURSDAY    MORNING. 

Come  forth  in  thy  purple  robes  again, 
Thou  brightest  star  of  heaven  ! 

Another  day  the  Guardian  of  men 
Has  to  his  children  given. 

Receive  the  gift  with  gratitude  ; 

My  soul !  to  thy  Maker  ascend, 
7   ' 


'4  THURSDAY    MOSXIXG. 

And  bear  thy  songs  to  the  Source  of  good, 
To  thy  Father  and  thy  Friend. 

Bring  Him  thy  morning  tribute  meet, 

Devotion's  otierins  : 
How  privileged  to  hold  communion  sweet 

With  thine  and  creation's  Kino- ! 
I  look  around,  —  a  thousand  thi 

Enjoy  the  sunny  beam  : 
And  nature  her  million  voices  brin   - 

o 

To  form  an  anthem  to  Him. 

0,  join  the  songs  of  the  air,  the  grove, 

And  the  chorus  of  the  sea  ; 
For,  hark !  the  spirits  of  light  ab6ve 

Reecho  the  harmonv. 
And  see  !  ten  thousand  angels  smile 

Through  the  firmament's  golden  doors  : 
And  from  silver  clouds,  heaven's  hand  the  while 

Scatters  our  path  with  flow 

The  senses  indeed  must  be  dark  and  dull, 
That  in  nature  no  charms  can  see  ; 

For  beauty's  self  is  not  more  beautiful 
To  the  eye  of  pietv. 

And  deaf  indeed  is  the  clav-cold  ear, 


THURSDAY    MORNING.  75 

That  no  sounds  of  music  greet ; 
Though  nought  as  the  music  of  praise  and  prayer 
Is  half  so  exquisite. 

And  why  should  man  a  distant  bliss 

So  eagerly,  fondly  chase, 
While  the  holy  joys  of  a  world  like  this 

Invite  his  present  embrace  ? 
Are  the  unknown  beings  of  yonder  zone 

More  privileged  than  we  ? 
Does  a  shorter  year,  or  a  brighter  sun, 

Imply  felicity  ? 

They  may  wander  perchance  in  groves  of  palm, 

And  dwell  in  palaces  bright ; 
They  may  breathe  an  air  as  sweet  as  balm, 

And  be  clad  in  robes  of  light : 
Yet  there,  as  here,  the  fatal  grave 

Will  o'er  their  possessions  close  ; 
And  the  more  they  hope,  and  the  more  they  have, 

The  more  they  are  destined  to  lose. 

O,  let  our  portion  content  us  then, 

The  portion  which  God  has  given  ; 
For  man  is  the  fair  earth's  denizen 

And  the  heritor  of  heaven. 


76  THURSDAY    EVENING. 

Above  him  are  gorgeous,  golden  clouds, 

That  roll  in  glory  afar  ; 
And  the  night,  which  its  bosom  in  darkness  shrouds, 

Is  sprinkled  with  many  a  star. 

And  brighter  and  fairer  than  star  or  sun 

Is  the  light  that  beams  from  on  high ; 
A  light  which  conducts  its  pilgrims  on 

To  the  shrine  of  eternal  joy  ; 
And  thither  our  towering  thoughts  shall  soar, 

And  there  the  tired  spirit  shall  rest ; 
While  hope  bursts  open  the  heavenly  door 

Of  the  mansions  of  the  blest. 


THURSDAY   EVENING. 

Calm  is  the  eve,  and  nature's  wasting  strength 
Is,  by  the  gentle  influence  of  repose, 
Repaired,  rekindled  ;  —  with  the  morning's  dawn, 
As  if  new  born  the  world  awakes  ;  and  throws 
The  wearying  burden  of  existence  down, 
When  night  invites  to  rest. 

And  such  new  birth 

In  soul  and  spirit  well  beseemeth  man  ; 


THURSDAY    EVENING. 


His  grosser  part  decays  and  dies  away ; 

Then  let  him  fan  that  bright,  immortal  spark, 

Glimmering  in  the  recesses  of  his  heart, 

That  lights  up  virtue's  flame  and  wisdom's  torch  — 

The  torch  of  heavenly  wisdom  ;  —  that  pure  star, 

Which  shines  as  sweetly  as  Aldebaran 

Through  the  dark  grating  of  a  prison  house  ; 

Guided  by  this,  man  shall  be  free  indeed 

In  the  transcendent,  glorious  liberty 

Which  our  Deliverer  wrought  and  perfected. 

He  who  is  born  of  the  corporeal  sense, 
Is  but  a  heavy,  useless  mass  obscure, 
Till  lighted  by  the  Spirit,  that  gives  life 
And  beauty  and  perfection.     Then  indeed 
A  glorious  birth  succeeds  —  the  power  of  death 
Is  broken,  and  the  enfranchised  prisoner  walks 
In  the  expanse  of  heaven  and  blessedness ; 
So  privileged  is  regenerated  man ! 
His  influence  is  as  gentle  and  as  sweet 
As  that  of  evening's  breath,  which  silently 
Steals  over  nature  —  musical  its  voice, 
Unseen  its  workings,  —  but  upon  its  wings 
Sit  cheerfulness  and  health.     The  pilgrim  feels 
Its  fresh  and  honest  greeting,  and  moves  on, 

Cheered  and  supported.     He  has  raised  a  pile 

•7  # 


78  THURSDAY    EVENING. 

To  wisdom,  and  there  worships,  and  there  keeps 
Habitual  court,  and  every  morn  and  night 
Lights  up  pure  incense  at  the  holy  shrine, 
And  takes  another  step  towards  heaven  and  God. 

0  Thou  !  whose  light-encircled  throne  is  built 
Upon  eternity  —  listen  !     May  his  lot 

Be  Thy  now-worshipping  servant's ;  let  my  path 
Thus  lead  me  to  Thy  presence.     Even  here 

1  see  Thy  glory  beaming  thence  —  I  hear, 
Amidst  the  harmony  of  thousand  stars, 
Some  angel  voice  inviting  ;  —  and  I  feel 
As  if  the  garlands  of  celestial  growth 

Had  touched  my  forehead.     0,  transporting  dream  ! 

Beautiful  visions  of  that  land  of  joy, 

Unveiled  by  God,  and  clad  in  starry  light ! 

O,  privileged  moment !  when  the  gates  of  heaven 

Glitter  resplendently  upon  my  view  ; 

In  that  soft  lisrht  so  sweetlv  shining;  now, 

Amidst  those  visions  through  the  shades  of  time, 

Beneath  those  stars  which  so  serenely  smile  — 

My  heart  shall  be  devoted  all  to  Thee. 


FRIDAY    MORNING.  79 

FRIDAY  MORNING. 

TO  THE   INCOMPREHENSIBLE   GOD. 

(From  the  Spanish  of  Melendez.) 

First,  Mightiest  Deity  !  Eternal  mind  ! 

Revealed  —  but  hidden  One  ! 

Thou  in  a  vale  of  fadeless  glory  shrined, 

Yet  to  all  seen  and  known ! 

Holy  Jehovah  !  whose  immortal  essence 

I  weigh  not,  —  but  confess  — 

And  feel  Thine  influence,  Thy  celestial  presence, 

In  all  my  happiness. 

All  lives,  all  breathes,  all  vegetates  in  Thee  ; 

Thy  power  all  being  gives  ; 

The  bird  upsoars,  the  fish  divides  the*  sea  — 

Man  understands,  and  lives. 

The  farther  my  inquiring  thoughts  advance, 

The  farther  dost  Thou  fly  — 

And  nought  I  see,  but  mine  own  ignorance 

And  Thine  immensity. 

Thee,  whom  the  heaven  of  heavens  cannot  contain, 

How  should  those  thoughts  embrace  ? 

My  feeble  reason  strives  and  soars  in  vain 


80  FRIDAY    MORNING. 

Thy  cloud-wrapped  path  to  trace. 

That  reason  in  the  infinite  recess 

Of  dazzling  light  is  drowned, 

And,  blinded  in  its  night  of  nothingness, 

Bows,  humbled  to  the  ground. 

For  if  to  man  to  know  Thee  it  were  given, 

He  would  be  like  to  Thee  ; 

Would  wrest  Thy  sceptre,  and  usurp  in  heaven 

Thy  throne  of  majesty. 

But  Thou  art  far  beyond  my  knowledge,  Lord  ! 

Filling  all  space  —  all  time. 

The  first  —  the  last  —  ungoverned  and  adored  ! 

Thou  mak'st  Thy  path  sublime  — 

Thou  givest  motion  to  the  heavens  —  Thy  hand 

Pours  out  the  deep,  proud  sea  ; 

And  the  adamantine  pillars  of  the  land 

Are  reared  and  propped  by  Thee. 

Thy  way  is  in  th'  empyreum  —  and  Thy  feet 

Tread  the  eternal  hills  ; 

Yet  Thy  glance  visits  death's  profoundest  pit, 

And  night  with  brightness  fills  ; 

And  from  that  car  of  light  where  Thou  dost  ride, 

Thine  eye,  serene  and  holy, 

Mourns  over  man's  intolerable  pride, 

Laughs  at  his  towering  folly. 

But  Thou  art  vaster  than  the  unbounded  sky, 


FRIDAY    MORNING.  81 

And  the  unfathomed  ocean 


i 


Thou  art  —  and  wert  before  eternity  — 

Before  or  rest  or  motion. 

How  shall  I  praise  Thee  ?     Seraphs,  when  they  bring 

The  homage  of  their  lyre, 

Veil  their  bright  face  beneath  their  flaming  wing, 

And  tremble  and  retire. 

Eternal  Majesty  —  immense  abyss  ! 

Light  and  Infinity ! 

Canst  Thou  unveil  Thee  to  a  worm  like  this  ? 

No  !     'Tis  all"  dark  to  me. 

Who  art  Thou  ?     Where  ?     O,  condescend  to  speak, 

And  let  Thy  servant  hear :  — 

O,  lend  me  wings  —  and  I  my  God  will  seek 

Through  every  rolling  sphere. 

I'll  ask  the  rapid  wind,  I'll  ask  the  storm, 

I'll  ask  Orion  bright  — 

"  Say,  hast  thou  seen  His  venerable  form, 

The  shadow  of  His  light  ?  " 

I'll  meet  the  comet  in  his  fiery  way, 

Stay  Sirius  on  his  road  — 

I'll  stop  the  hurrying  night,  the  hastening  day, 

To  tell  me  —  where  is  God  ? 

I'll  ask  —  forgive  my  daring,  gracious  One  ! 

And  lead  the  wanderer  home  ; 

O,  may  I  catch  one  lightbeam  from  Thy  throne, 

F 


82  FRIDAY    MORNING. 

Through  ages  yet  to  come  ! 

For  how  should  earthly  dust  presume  to  rise 

So  daringly,  so  high  ? 

And  how  should  dim  and  dying  mortal  eyes 

Bear  splendors  of  the  sky  ? 

I  cannot  bear  them  ;  —  but  I  feel  and  know, 

That  Thou  art  every  where  ; 

And  worms  and  worlds  —  the  lofty  and  the  low, 

All,  all  Thy  power  declare  ; 

All,  all  Thy  love  proclaim  —  Thy  power  and  love, 

Obvious  to  every  sense  ; 

And  heard  in  all,  around,  beneath,  above, 

In  varied  eloquence. 

I  see  Thee  in  the  flower  —  I  feel  Thee  still 

In  every  breath  of  air  ; 

I  hear  Thee  in  the  music  of  the  rill  — 

God  !  Thou  art  every  where. 

This  is  enough  all  sadness  to  control, 

All  doubts  and  fears  to  chase  ; 

And  to  shed  over  my  enraptured  soul 

The  rivers  of  Thy  grace. 

To  contemplate  —  enjoy  —  admire  —  adore  — 

And  send  sweet  thoughts  towards  heaven  ; 

What  can  an  earthly  spirit  ask  for  more  ? 

What  more  to  man  be  given  ? 

Lost  in  Thy  works,  —  yet  full  of  humble  trust, 


FRIDAY    EVENING.  83 

I  close  the  worthless  lay  ; 

Bow  down  my  reverent  forehead  in  the  dust, 

And  in  meek  silence  pray. 


FRIDAY    EVENING. 

Hour  after  hour  steals  rapidly  away, 

Bearing  past  pleasures  on  its  airy  wings, 

E'en  like  the  sunny  clouds,  which  evening's  ray 

Gilds  with  ten  thousand  bright  and  beauteous  things. 

Where  are  the  million  million  actors  now 

That  once  this  busy  scene  of  being  trod  ? 

All  garnered  underneath  the  grassy  sod, 

Sleeping  yon  heaps  of  turf,  or  stone,  below  ! 

'Tis  fleeting  all,  —  all  false  ;  —  in  life's  rude  sea, 

Religion  is  the  only  towering  rock  ; 

A  thousand  ages  roll  on  hurriedly  — 

It  stands  unshaken  by  the  billow's  shock ; 

It  stands  unshaken.     Mountains  tottering  fall, 

Hills  bow,  —  and  forests,  cities,  shrines  decay  ; 

There's  no  security,  no  staff,  nor  stay  — 

Time's  mighty  curtain  must  envelop  all. 

But  thou,  heaven's  daughter,  hast  in  heaven  thy  throne, 


84  FRIDAY    EVENING. 

Thy  chariot  moves  with  the  unclouded  sun  ; 
Thy  light,  thy  strength,  immortal  and  alone, 
Roll  in  their  full  career  of  glory  on. 
What  though  the  door  of  evening's  twilight  close  ? 
What  though  the  voice  of  death  may  call  aloud  ? 
In  midnight's  gloom  a  star  of  Eden  glows  — 
A  beam  of  heavenly  hope  illumes  the  shroud. 

Fulfil  thy  journey,  pilgrim  !  all  may  fade, 
Fail,  perish  round  thee  —  death  shall  dim  thine  eye, 
Shall  freeze  thy  beating  heart  — and  thou  shalt  lie 
A  silent  slumberer  in  the  realms  of  shade  ; 
Yet  faint  not,  —  fear  not !  let  thy  nobler  sense 
Look  upward  —  it  shall  see  delightful  gleams 
Smiling  from  heaven  —  catch  pure  intelligence 
From  realms  of  truth  —  and  from  the  idle  dreams 
Of  earth  escaping,  build  a  holy  fane 
To  those  high  principles,  unshaken,  real, 
Towering  above  these  passing  scenes  ideal, 
And  chase  the  flitting  clouds  of  time  and  pain. 

Ours  is  a  faith  nurtured  and  nourished 

In  the  inmost  heart  —  but  not  imprisoned  there  — 

With  holy  thoughts  and  aspirations  fed, 

The  object  of  its  worship  always  near ; 

That  object  —  the  all-present  Spirit  of  God  — 


SATURDAY   MORNING.  85 

A  Spirit  more  diffused  than  is  the  light, 
(For  it  no  twilight  knows,  nor  clouds,  nor  night,) 
Beaming  through  all  —  yet  fixing  its  abode 
In  the  recesses  of  the  pious  breast. 

Ye  soft  and  beautiful  dreams  !  whose  origin 

Is,  when  life's  day  is  purest,  holiest, 

Ere  tinged  by  suffering,  or  stained  by  sin; 

Growing  with  our  growth,  and  strengthening  with  our 

strength, 
And  glowing  in  our  full  maturity, 
Till,  mingled  with  our  being,  they  shall  be 
The  link  that  binds  us  to  our  heaven  at  length. 

This  world  has  nought  to  soothe  or  satisfy 

The  spirit,  save  the  lustre  it  receives 

(Like  sunbeams  glimmering  through  the  dewy  eaves) 

From  the  bright  influence  of  eternity. 


SATURDAY    MORNING. 

The  sand  of  another  week  has  run, 
All  but  its  last  and  closing  day ; 
And  its  few  remnant  moments  soon 
8 


86  SATURDAY    MORNING. 

The  common  /uin  will  sweep  away. 
Time  hurries,  as  the  sparkling  ray- 
That  dances  on  the  fleeting  stream. 
Is  life  a  dream  ?       Ah,  if  a  dream, 
A  dream  of  sad  reality. 
Whether  we  trace  the  days  gone  by, 
Or  to  the  cheating  future  look  — 
Tis  all  a  dark  and  gloomy  book, 
Which  vice  and  folly,  stubborn  will, 
And  silent  blanks,  and  sorrow  fill. 
And  so  we  are  driven  —  driven  ever, 
Down  time's  impetuous,  wintry  river. 
One  is  unchanged  —  and  He  alone ; 
Th'  immutable  —  the  glorious  One  ! 
His  plans  are  never  thwarted  —  He 
For  each  his  destined  portion  pours ; 
Drives  these  along  the  troubled  sea, 
Those  lands  upon  the  peaceful  shores. 
Who  reads  His  mysteries  ?  —  Who  can  tell 
The  deep  recesses  of  His  plan  ?  — 
Who  sees  the  great  Invisible  ? 
Who  can  unveil  a  God  to  man  ? 
None  !  —  but  His  love  to  each  hath  given 
A  holy  visitant  from  heaven  ; 
A  guardian  spirit  from  that  sphere, 
For  an  attending  angel  here  ;  — 


SATURDAY    MORNING.  87 

'Tis  Virtue  !  and  her  kingdom  stands 

Firmly  erected  in  the  breast ; 

0,  see  her  lift  her  welcoming  hands, 

And  call  her  children  to  her  rest. 

What  fear  they  ?     Ever  onwards  prest 

From  good  to  better,  still  improving  — 

Now  their  bright  thoughts  o'er  Eden  roving, 

Now,  in  the  midst  of  earthly  night, 

Stretching  an  anxious,  eager  eye 

To  realms  of  immortality  ; 

And  drinking  in  pure  streams  of  light, 

From  the  eternal  fountains  flowing ; 

Gifts  of  joy  on  all  bestowing  — 

Wiping  off  the  dewy  tear 

That  drops  upon  the  sufferer's  cheek  ; 

Smiling  on  the  pure,  the  meek, 

Like  a  heavenly  comforter ; 

Through  life's  discords  sweetly  breathing 

Music,  soft  as  twilight  hours  ; 

With  the  thorny  garland  wreathing 

Lilies,  roses,  fairest  flowers  ; 

Looking  beautifully  through 

All  the  clouds  of  grief  or  scorn, 

As  the  primrose  through  the  dew, 

Scattered  by  the  hand  of  morn : 

Now  on  pinions  of  the  air  — 


88  SATURDAY    EVENING. 

Now  on  ocean  —  now  on  land, 
Tracing  the  Almighty  hand 
All-directing,  every  where. 
In  the  blue  expanse  above  — 
On  earth's  robe  of  green  below 
Strewing  beauty,  shedding  love  : 
Stars  that  shine  and  flowers  that  blow, 
Rills  that  musically  flow, 
Mountains  that  majestic  rise, 
Torches,  altars,  melodies  — 
All  Thou  lovest,  leadest,  lightest : 
Thou,  of  all  things  holiest,  brightest, 
Greatest,  best !  Thy  glorious  praise 
Thus  I  utter  lowly,  lonely : 
Thou,  my  God,  my  Father  only  — 
Thus  to  Thee  I  tune  my  lays  ! 


SATURDAY    EVENING. 

Through  the  thick  trees  the  evening  breezes  speak 
And  ripple  the  calm  surface  of  the  lake  ; 
And  heaven  is  clad  in  its  star-spangled  robe  ; 
While  stillness  lulls  to  rest  the  weary  globe  ; 
Thus  days  and  weeks  roll  on  —  thus  all  things  tend 
Through  various  issues,  to  one  common  end. 


SATURDAY    EVENING.  89 

Now  night  resumes  her  rest-compelling  rod, 

And  all  is  hushed  to  soft  repose,  but  God  ! 

Now  let  my  soul  direct  its  flight  to  Him, 

And,  soaring  o'er  this -shadowy  darkness  dim, 

Reach  the  loved  threshold  of  His  throne  divine, 

And  bring  accepted  tribute  to  His  shrine. 

The  week  is  past  —  the  Sabbath  dawn  comes  on  : 

Rest  —  rest  in  peace  —  thy  daily  toil  is  done  ; 

And  standing,  as  thou  standest,  on  the  brink 

Of  a  new  scene  of  being,  calmly  think 

Of  what  is  gone,  is  now,  and  soon  shall  be  — 

As  one  that  trembles  on  eternity. 

For  sure  as  this  now-closing  week  is  past, 

So  sure  advancing  time  will  close  thy  last ; 

Sure  as  to-morrow,  shall  the  awful  light 

Of  the  eternal  morning  hail  thy  sight. 

Spirit  of  Good  !  on  this  week's  verge  I  stand, 
Tracing  the  guiding  influence  of  Thy  hand  ; 
That  hand>  which  leads  me  gently,  kindly  still 
Up  life's  dark,  stony,  tiresome,  thorny  hill : 
Thou,  Thou  in  every  storm  hast  sheltered  me 
Beneath  the  wing  of  Thy  benignity ;  — 
A  thousand  graves  my  footsteps  circumvent, 
And  I  exist  —  Thy  mercy's  monument ! 
8* 


90  SATURDAY    EVENING. 

A  thousand  writhe  upon  the  bed  of  pain  — 
I  live  —  and  pleasure  flows  through  every  vein. 
Want  o'er  a  thousand  wretches  waves  her  wand  — 
I,  circled  by  ten  thousand  mercies,  stand. 
How  can  I  praise  Thee,  Father  ?  how  express 
My  debt  of  reverence,  and  of  thankfulness  ? 
A  debt  that  no  intelligence  can  count, 
While  every  moment  swells  its  vast  amount. 

For  the  week's  duties  Thou  hast  given  me  strength, 

And  brought  me  to  its  tranquil  close  at  length ; 

And  here  my  grateful  bosom  fain  would  raise 

A  fresh  memorial  to  Thy  glorious  praise  : 

And  if  inspired  by  reverent  trust,  —  and  free 

From  vain  presumption,  it  may  reach  e'en  Thee  ; 

But  ah  !  the  least  of  all  Thy  gifts  exceeds 

The  best,  the  holiest  of  my  thoughts  or  deeds. 

Were  I  but  worthy  of  Thy  love  !  —  I  will  — 

If  Thy  pure  Spirit  help  me  to  fulfil 

This  solemn  pledge  :  I  will  —  Thy  blessing,  Lord, 

Shall  give  a  sacred  influence  to  the  word, 

And  hallow  and  confirm  the  humble  vow  — 

My  Friend,  my  Father  !  O,  confirm  it  now  ! 


SUNDAY   MORNING.  91 

THIRD    WEEK. 

AUTUMN. 

SUNDAY  MORNING. 

Of  all  the  gifts  conferred  by  Heaven, 
Time  is  the  brightest  —  is  the  best ; 
Through  time  eternity  is  given  ; 
By  earthly  labors  —  heavenly  rest. 

While  days  and  weeks  pass  gently  by, 
How  little  do  we  deem  that  these 
Are  germs  of  immortality  — 
The  buds  of  mightiest  destinies ! 

Yet  not  too  fondly  let  us  trust 
The  flitting,  fading  morning's  ray  : 
All  earthly  promises  are  dust ; 
All  earthly  pyramids  are  clay. 

Time's  visions  are  but  treachery, 
Soon  wrecked  on  dark  oblivion's  wave  ; 
Its  paths,  however  bright  they  be, 
Lead  to  one  common  spot  —  the  grave 


92  SrXDAT    3I0RNING. 

The  grave  may  bound  the  views  of  some  — 
To  me  it  is  no  boundary  ; 
For  the  dull  prison  of  the  tomb 
Is  but  the  D-ate  of  life  to  me. 

I  will  not  seek  my  birthright  here  ; 
A  few  vile  pageants  —  grasp  them  —  they, 
Though  bright  and  shining  they  appear, 
Melt  into  air,  and  pass  away. 

My  hopes  are  higher,  nobler  far  — 
They  are  immortal,  splendid,  bright ; 
Pure,  lofty  as  yon  morning  star, 
That  shines  with  clear  and  holv  \\sht 

My  thoughts  ascend  above  the  earth, 
And  seek  their  primal,  proud  abode  ; 
The  country  of  their  heavenly  birth, 
The  land  of  peace,  of  joy,  of  God. 

My  mortal  robes  I'll  cast  aside, 
And  there  be  clad  as  angels  are  — 
And  with  the  sun  in  glory  ride, 
On  Ins  fire-girded,  dazzling  car, 

Wherever  joy  or  virtue  is  — 

Farther  than  eve  could  e'er  discern  :  — 


SUNDAY    MORNING. 

Strange  that  a  world  so  mean  as  this 
Should  e'er  engage  my  chief  concern. 

Strange  !  that  these  fleeting,  fading  forms, 
Which  Heaven  has  named  immortal  men, 
Rising  from  dust  like  reptile  worms, 
So  turn  to  vilest  dust  again. 

Strange  !  that  this  nobly-fashioned  mould, 
In  which  a  very  god  might  dwell, 
Should  only  live  to  dig  for  gold  — 
And  perish  in  its  narrow  cell. 

Strange  !  when  that  shining,  shifting  ore 
Is  but  delusive,  dazzling  clay- — 
A  shell  men  grasp  —  and  grasp  no  more, 
E'en  while  they  throw  the  pearl  away. 

A  higher  destiny  is  mine, 
And  brighter  hopes,  and  holier  cares  ; 
Thoughts  stretching  on  to  joys  divine  ; 
Hours  pregnant  with  eternal  years  ! 


04  SUNDAY   EVENING. 


SUNDAY   EVENING. 

Welcome  the  hour  of  sweel  repose, 

The  evening  of  the  Sabbath  day ! 

In  peace  my  wearied  eyes  shall  close 

When  I  have  tuned  my  vesper  lay 

In  humble  gratitude  to  Him 

Who  waked  the  morning's  earliest  beam. 

In  such  an  hour  as  this,  how  sweet, 
In  the  calm  solitude  of  even, 
To  hold  with  Heaven  communion  meet, 
Meet  for  a  spirit  bound  to  heaven ; 
And,  in  this  wilderness  beneath, 
Pure  zephyrs  from  above  to  breathe ! 

It  may  be  that  the  Eternal  Mind 

Bends  sometimes  from  His  throne  of  bliss ; 

Where  should  we  then  His  presence  find, 

But  in  an  hour  so  blest  as  this  — 

An  hour  of  calm  tranquillity, 

Silent  as  if  to  welcome  Thee  ? 

Yes  !  if  the  Great  Invisible, 
Descending  from  His  seat  divine, 


SUNDAY    EVENING.  95 

May  deign  upon  this  earth  to  dwell  — 
Where  shall  He  find  a  welcoming  shrine, 
But  in  the  breast  of  man,  who  bears 
His  image,  and  His  spirit  shares  ? 

Now  let  the  solemn  thought  pervade 

My  soul,  —  and  let  my  heart  prepare 

A  throne  :  —  Come,  veiled  in  awful  shade, 

Spirit  of  God  !  that  I  may  dare 

Hail  Thee! — nor,  like  Thy  prophet,  be 

Blinded  by  Thy  bright  majesty. 

Then  turn  my  wandering  thoughts  within, 
To  hold  communion,  Lord  !  with  Thee  ; 
And,  purified  from  taint  of  sin 
And  earth's  pollutions,  let  me  see 
Thine  image,  —  for  a  moment  prove. 
If  not  Thy  majesty,  Thy  love. 

That  love  which  over  all  is  shed  — 
Shed  on  the  worthless  as  the  just ; 
Lighting  the  stars  above  our  head, 
And  waking  beauty  out  of  dust ; 
And  rolling  in  its  glorious  way, 
Beyond  the  farthest  comet's  ray, 


96  SUNDAY    EVENING. 

To  Him  alike  the  living  stream 
And  the  dull  regions  of  the  grave  : 
All  watched,  protected  all,  by  Him, 
Whose  eye  can  see,  whose  arm  can  save, 
In  the  cold  midnight's  dangerous  gloom, 
Or  the  dark  prison  of  the  tomb. 

Thither  we  hasten  —  as  the  sand 
Drops  in  the  hourglass,  never  still, 
S   .  gathered  in  by  death's  rude  hand, 
The  storehouse  of  the  grave  we  fill  : 
And  sleep  in  peace,  as  safely  kept 
As  when  on  earth  we  smiled  or  wept. 

What  is  our  dun*  here  ?     To  tend 
From  good  to  better  —  thence  to  best  ; 
Grateful  to  drink  life's  cup,  —  then  bend 
Unmurmuring  to  our  bed  of  rest  : 
To  pluck  the  flowers  that  round  us  blow, 
Scattering  their  fragrance  as  we  go. 

And  so  to  live,  that  when  the  sun 

Of  our  existence  sinks  in  night, 

Memorials  sweet  of  mercies  done 

May  "shrine  our  names  in  memory's  light ; 


MONDAY    MORNING.  97 


And  the  blest  seeds  we  scattered,  bloom 
A  hundred  fold  in  days  to  come. 


MONDAY  MORNING. 

Wakee  by  Thy  sun,  again  my  thoughts  ascend 
To  Thee,  my  heavenly  Father !  and  they  blend 
In  one  devotional  hymn  of  praise  and  prayer. 
All-present  Being  !  now  the  morning  air 
Is  calm,  is  fragrant  with  Thy  spirit  —  bright 
With  the  reflected  influence  of  Thy  light. 
The  trees  are  bending  with  Thy  rich  supplies ; 
It  is  Thy  beauty-giving  hand  that  dyes 
The  purple  grape  —  that  through  the  vales,  the  meads, 
The  many-colored  flowers  wide-blooming  spreads  ; 
Crimsons  the  downy  peach,  —  and  skirts  the  wood 
With  many  a  golden  ridge,  —  and  tips  the  flood 
With   radiance   stolen   from  heaven;   the    praise    be 

Thine, 
Father,  Creator,  Leader,  King  Divine  ! 
Eternal  Source  of  joy!  'tis  Thou  dost  bless 
With  all  we  hope  for,  all  that  we  possess  ; 
When  the  world  sleeps  in  darkness,  Thy  pure  eye 
Looks  sweetly  out  on  its  obscurity ; 

9  G 


98  MONDAY    MORNING. 

Until  the  awakened  sun  his  standard  rears, 

And  in  his  glorious  crown  of  light  appears 

Rising  o'er  the  orient  mountains  ;  life,  renewed, 

Reanimates  the  busy  multitude 

That  swarm  upon  earth's  bosom.     Joy  again 

Waves  her  bright  wing  over  the  countless  train 

Of  beings,  whom  Heaven's  never-sleeping  eye 

Watched  through  the  night,  and  now  to  the  energy 

Of  day  recalls.     I  bow  myself  in  dust, 

And  feel  Thy  awful  hand  sublime  and  just, 

And  own  Thy  hallowed  presence  —  for  I  see 

O'er  all,  and  in  all,  Thy  benignity. 

And  I  would  kiss  Thy  rod  —  and  to  Thee  fly, 

As  my  best  refuge  :  Thou  art  ever  nigh, 

E'en  in  the  shades  of  earth  —  and  brighter  still, 

Beyond  the  summit  of  that  clouded  hill 

Which  veils  futurity.     Now  hear  my  prayer, 

And  be  Thy  staff  my  guide,  my  steps  Thy  care ; 

Thy  call  I  follow,  summon  where  it  may  ; 

Thy  hand  shall  guide,  where'er  it  points  the  way ; 

Thy  light  illumine,  and  Thy  Spirit  cheer ; 

Thine  influence,  ever  active,  ever  near, 

Shall  gild  the  smiling  hour  with  brighter  ray, 

And  give  to  darkness  some  sweet  gleams  of  day ; 

Shall  lead  us  gently  through  our  pilgrimage, 

And  drop  us  safely  in  the  lap  of  age  ; 


MONDAY    EVENING.  99 

And  watch  our  bed  of  slumber,  —  and  awake 

From  the  grave's  dreams,  when  the  great  mora  shall 

break 
Upon  the  realms  of  death  —  and  waft  us  on, 
Borne  on  faith's  pinions,  to  the  Eternal's  throne. 


MONDAY   EVENING. 

O  God  !  Thy  kingdom  is  a  mansion  bright, 

Where  peace  and  joy  and  truth  and  love  and  light 

Mingle  harmoniously ;  while  like  a  sun 

Thine  eye  of  holiness  looks  sweetly  down. 

There  the  heart  rests  'midst  sacred  visions,  beaming 

From   yon   side    death,  —  whence   tides  of  splendor 

streaming, 
Bear  from  Heaven's  throne  —  Heaven's  glowing  gold- 

en  seat, 
An  effluence  of  glory  infinite  ; 
Covering  the  earth  with  hope  and  blessedness, 
And  wiping  the  wet  eyelids  of  distress ; 
Guiding  the  blind,  encouraging  the  weak, 
And  teaching  even  infant  tongues  to  speak 
In  accents  of  devotion  ;  those  who  fall 
Upraising,  lighting,  leading,  blessing  all. 


100  MONDAY    EVENING. 

In  the  soft  stillness  of  obscurity, 

The  hour  of  calm,  the  hour  of  ecstasy, 

In  hope,  in  memory,  in  the  thoughts  that  rise 

Beyond  the  clouded  mansions  of  the  skies, 

In  all  on  earth  that's  heavenly  —  all  above  — 

Tempering  with  earthly  memories,  earthly  love  — 

Where'er  there's  joy,  Thy  shadowed  Presence  is, 

And  the  whole  universe  is  full  of  bliss  ; 

For  earth  is  linked  to  heaven  —  and  all  we  see 

And  suffer  ripens  to  felicity. 

There  is  a  Spirit  o'er  creation  spread, 

Though  darkness  draw  its  curtains  round  our  head, 

And  sorrow's  streams  flow  at  our  mortal  feet,  — 

There  is  a  Spirit,  sanctified  and  sweet, 

That  breathes  of  other  scenes  and  holier  things, 

Broods  o'er  the  earth  with  healing  on  its  wings, 

And  is  an  angel-messenger  from  heaven  : 

There  is  a  Spirit  to  our  spirits  given, 

Which  holds  communion  with  our  nobler  part, 

That  sheds  a  hallowed  influence  on  our  heart ; 

Gives  pinions  to  our  thoughts,  and  to  our  prayers, 

And  harmonizes  all  our  doubts  and  cares 

To  meek  submission  —  an  Intelligence 

That  gladdens  with  its  living  influence 

All  space,  all  time,  —  and  trains  our  earthly  eye 

To  bear  the  blaze  of  immortality. 


TUESDAY    MORNING.  101 

As  in  the  silence  of  a  cloudless  night 

The  gentle  moon  disperses  her  soft  light 

Through  the  low  murmuring  trees,  which  evening's 

gale 
Plays  on  in  sportiveness  'midst  shadows  pale, 
And  the  earth  sleeps  beneath  the  sway  serene 
Of  midnight's  chaste  and  glory-circled  queen  ; 
So,  in  the  calm  of  holiness,  the  soul 
Reposes  'neath  religion's  blest  control, 
Lighted  with  radiance  from  a  higher  sphere  : 
Nor  shall  that  radiance  e'er  desert  us  here, 
Till  all  our  earthly  labors  shall  be  done, 
And  we  be  gathered  homeward  one  by  one. 


TUESDAY   MORNING. 

The  stars  have  sunk  in  yon  concave  blue, 
And  the  sun  is  peeping  through  the  dew  ; 
Thy  Spirit,  Lord  !  doth  nature  fill  — 
Before  Thee  angels'  tongues  are  still, 
And  seraphs  hush  their  golden  strings 
In  Thy  high  presence,  King  of  kings  ! 
How  then  shall  I,  a  clod  of  clay, 
Or  lift  my  voice,  or  tune  my  lay  ? 
9* 


102  TUESDAY    MORNING. 

Thou  !  who  the  realms  of  space  and  time 
Dost  people  with  Thy  might  sublime  ; 
Whose  power  is  felt  below,  above, 
Felt  in  Thy  wisdom,  in  Thy  love  ; 
Whose  awful  voice  is  heard  around, 
Heard  in  its  silence  as  its  sound  ; 
Whose  lovely  Spirit  doth  pervade 
Alike  the  sunshine  and  the  shade, 
And  shines  and  smiles  in  sorrow's  night 
As  clearly  as  in  pleasure's  light. 
Thou  in  the  evening's  silence  deep 
Cradlest  the  weary  world  in  sleep  ; 
And,  when  the  sun  mounts  o'er  the  hill, 
Call'st  us  our  duties  to  fulfil. 

'Tis  Thou  who  o'er  the  billowy  sea 

Dost  ride  in  awful  majesty, 

Walkest  sublime  on  the  winds,  and  greetest 

The  spirit  of  day,  when,  fairest  and  sweetest, 

It  fills  the  bosom  of  nature  with  bliss  — 

In  moments  as  calm  and  holy  as  this. 

We  see  Thee  then  in  light  arrayed, 

Dispersing  all  the  twilight's  shade, 

Tuning  the  music  of  the  bee, 

Painting  the  flowers'  variety, 

Waking  the  thousand  smiles  that  are  playing 


TUESDAY    MORNING.  108 

On  morning's  cheeks,  —  and  viewless  straying, 

With  the  mild  breeze,  over  hill  and  plain, 

Turning  to  gold  the  autumnal  grain, 

Giving  the  rose  its  blushing  hue, 

Changing  to  diamonds  drops  of  dew, 

Gathering  the  vapors  from  the  main, 

Scattering  them  o'er  the  earth  again  : 

Then  it  is  that  nature's  throng 

Join  in  the  joyous,  general  song  ; 

Then  Thy  Spirit  shines  brighter,  clearer, 

Then  Thy  voice  speaks  softer,  nearer  ; 

Then  Thy  sun  would  seem  to  wear 

His  festival  robes  of  beauty  rare, 

And  all  creation,  glad  and  gay, 

Revels  as  in  a  holiday. 

Lord  !  Thou  hast  thunders  —  but  they  sleep  ; 

Storms  —  but  they  now  their  prisons  keep  : 

Nothing  is  breathing  below,  above, 

But  the  spirit  of  harmony,  joy  and  love  ; 

Nothing  is  seen  or  heard  around, 

But  beauty's  smiles,  and  music's  sound, 

Music  reechoed  in  earth  and  air, 

Beauty  that's  visible  every  where  : 

Join  the  concert — share  the  joy  ; 


a 04  TUESDAY    EVENING. 

Why  should  the  cares  of  earth  alloy- 
Pleasures  which  Heaven  itself  has  given, 
Heavenly  pleasures  which  lead  to  heaven  ? 


TUESDAY   EVENING. 

Stillness  reigns  —  the  vapors  steal 
Slowly  down  the  mountain's  brow, 
And  the  evening  shadows  veil 
Nature's  face  of  brightness  now  ; 
Flowers  put  off  their  glorious  dress, 
All  the  morning  smiles  are  fled, 
Earth  is  wrapped  in  loneliness 
\nd  the  silence  of  the  dead. 

Thus  beneath  the  hand  of  God 
Nature  wakes  and  sleeps  ;  but  still 
All-obedient  to  His  nod, 
All-submissive  to  His  will. 
So  we  flourish,  so  we  fade  : 
Drinking  now  life's  cup  of  joy, 
'Now  on  nature's  bosom  laid, 
Treasured  for  eternity. 


TUESDAY   EVENING.  105 

All  is  mortal  but  the  soul, 
Whose  undying  energy- 
Spurns  the  fettering  world's  control, 
And  upsoars,  my  God,  to  Thee. 
When  life's  evening  twilight  shrouds 
All  our  thoughts  with  care  and  gloom, 
Then  Thy  sunshine  breaks  the  clouds 
Gathered  o'er  the  wintry  tomb. 

Desolate  the  path  appears 
To  ihe  dim  and  distant  eye  ; 
Yet  that  path  of  darkness  bears 
Flowers  of.  immortality. 
O'er  it  shine  eternal  lamps  ; 
And  the  mists,  so  dark  that  seem, 
Are  like  morning's  chilly  damps 
Heralding  the  sunny  beam. 

Father  !  Thy  paternal  care 
Has  my  guardian  been,  my  guide ; 
Every  hallowed  wish  and  prayer 
Has  Thy  hand  of  love  supplied ; 
Thine  is  every  thought  of  bliss, 
Left  by  hours  and  days  gone  by ; 
Every  hope  Thine  offspring  is, 
Beaming  from  futurity. 


106  TUESDAY    EVENING. 

Every  sun  of  splendid  ray  ; 
Eveiy  moon  that  shines  serene  ; 
Every  morn  that  welcomes  day ; 
Every  evening's  twilight  scene  ; 
Every  hour  which  wisdom  brings  ; 
Every  incense  at  Thy  shrine  ; 
These  —  and  all  life's  holiest  things. 
And  its  fairest,  —  all  are  Thine. 

And  for  all  my  hymns  shall  rise 
Daily  to  Thy  gracious  throne  ;  • 

Thither  let  my  asking  eyes 
Turn  unwearied,  righteous  One'!- 
Through  life's  strange  vicissitude  » 

There  reposing  all  my  care, 
Trusting  still,  through  ill  and  good, 
Fixed  and  cheered  and  counselled  there. 

All  besides  is  weak  indeed, 
Dreams  of  folly  —  baseless  hope  ; 
Earth  is  but  a  broken  reed  ; 
Heaven  the  best,  the  only  prop. 
Who  would  live  to  raise  on  earth 
Some  frail  pile  of  dust  —  and  die  ? 
Man  is  of  immortal  birth, 
Living  for  eternity. 


WEDNESDAY    MORNING.  107 


WEDNESDAY  MORNING. 

Extinguished  is  the  last  lone  star, 
The  shadows  of  night  are  gone, 
And  lo  !  in  the  east,  day's  golden  car 
Is  filled  by  the  glorious  sun. 
And  list !  for  a  thousand  voices  call  — 
The  spirits  of  life  and  love  — 
Attune  your  hymns  to  the  Father  of  all, 
The  Sovereign  who  reigns  above. 

'Tis  He  who  opens  the  eastern  gates, 
Who  kindles  the  morning's  ray  ; 
'Tis  He  whose  spirit  all  animates, 
And  the  darkness  and  the  day. 
All  the  glories  of  the  field  are  His, 
All  the  music  of  the  sky  ; 
The  light  of  hope,  and  the  smile  of  bliss, 
And  nature's  song  of  joy. 

His  temple  is  yon  arch  sublime, 

Its  pillars  the  eternal  hills  ; 

His  chorus  the  solemn  voice  of  time, 

Which  all  creation  fills. 

His  worshippers  are  the  countless  train 


108  WEDNESDAY    MORNING. 

Which  the  lap  of  nature  bears, 

And  the  boisterous  wind,  and  the  raging  main, 

And  the  silence  of  the  spheres. 

He  rides  unseen  on  the  hunying  storm, 

He  sits  on  the  whirlwind's  car ; 

He  wraps  in  clouds  His  awful  form, 

And  travels  from  star  to  star. 

A  thousand  messengers  wait  His  will, 

A  million  heralds  fly, 

His  glorious  mandates  to  fulfil, 

On  the  wing  eternally. 

He  smiles  —  and  worlds  spring  forth  to  birth, 

And  suns  in  new  glory  rise ; 

He  frowns  —  and  darkness  clads  the  earth, 

And  mantles  .the  frighted  skies. 

Dost  thou  think  He  speaks  in  the  thunder's  roar, 

Or  shines  in  the  lightning's  beam  ? 

Vain  man  !  no  thought  of  thine  can  soar 

To  any  conception  of  Him. 

His  strength  nor  perishing  tongue  can  tell, 
Nor  immortal  hymns  rehearse  ; 
'Tis  high  as  the  heaven,  'tis  deep  as  hell, 
And  wide  as  the  universe : 


WEDNESDAY    EVENING.  109 

The  ocean  to  Him  is  a  dewdrop  small, 

The  mountains  an  atom  of  sand ; 

And  the  sun  and  the  stars,  and  this  earthly  ball, 

Are  dust  in  His  mighty  hand. 

And  O,  can  a  Being  so  great  as  He 
Bend  down  to  the  earth  His  ear  ? 
Can  children  of  clay,  so  frail  as  we, 
In  His  awful  presence  appear  ? 
O,  yes  !  to  His  throne  even  we  may  rise  ; 
To  us  is  His  promise  given, 
For  a  broken  heart  is  a  sacrifice 
Which  will  find  its  way  to  heaven. 


WEDNESDAY  EVENING. 

The  evening  star  is  aloft  in  heaven, 

Palely  it  shines  alone  ; 
And  nought  is  awake  in  the  eye  of  even, 

But  the  never-sleeping  One. 
He  mildly  looks  from  His  throne  sublime, 

Higher  than  mortal  ken, 
On  the  strange  vicissitudes  of  time, 

And  stranger  follies  of  men. 
10 


110  WEDNESDAY    EVENING. 

From  thence  our  insolent  race  He  scans  ; 

They  flutter  and  pass  away, 
And  all  their  pursuits  and  all  their  plans 

Are  e'en  more  fragile  than  the 
They  build  vain  visions  of  hope,  and  all. 

All  for  their  own  undoing  : 
Tbey  raise  the  pile  of  folly  —  and  fall 

Buried  beneath  its  ruin. 

Is  all  then  folly  ?     O.  Heaven  forbid  ! 

Is  all  delusive  beneath  ? 
No  !  virtue  may  build  her  pyramid, 

Peace  twine  her  myrtle  wreath. 
Is  all  then  darkness,  all  despair.  — 

Is  all  then  discord  ?     N    ! 

h  has  joys  as  bright  as  sunbeams  are  ; 

There's  music  of  heaven  belc 

Follow  yon  holy  pilgrim  the 

His  path  is  as  clear  as  da; 
A  thousand  angels  hovering  near 

To  guide  him  on  his  way  : 
Though  mountains  tremble  and  rocks  should  break, 

He  is  firmer  far  than  they  ; 
If  he  slumber,  his  spirit  shall  soon  awake 

To  a  glorious  morning's  ray. 


WEDNESDAY    EVENING.  Ill 

Our  bark  is  driven  by  joy  and  woe 

O'er  the  ever-changing;  wave, 
And  the  moon  which  lights  our  footsteps  now, 

Will  shine  upon  our  grave. 
And  then  forever  the  glorious  one 

Shall  sink  in  the  tomb-like  main ; 
O,  blest,  if  a  brighter,  purer  sun 

Shall  beam  on  our  rising  then  ! 

Great  day  !  when  a  million  lamps  shall  shine, 

With  heavenly  ether  blaze  ; 
When  a  thousand  rainbows  of  light  divine 

Shall  arch  the  eternal  space. 
Above  the  highest  worshipper, 

On  His  star-encircled  throne 
He  sits  —  whose  hand  shall  then  confer 

On  merit  its  amaranth  crown. 

The  meekest  servant,  the  humblest  son 

Of  virtue,  His  smile  shall  bless ; 
And  shall  put  a  wreath  of  glory  on 

The  spirit  of  lowliness. 
The  children  of  pomp  and  wealth  and  pride 

Shall  be  met  with  a  cold  disdain  ; 
There's  many  a  slave  shall  be  deified, 

And  many  a  scorned  one  reign. 


112  THURSDAY    MORNING. 

There  are  eyes  that  have  never  shed  a  tear 

Of  sympathy  or  distress, 
That  shall  weep  and  wail  for  ages  there 

In  trembling  hopelessness. 
There  are  cheeks  that  misery's  dewdrops  now 

Have  furrowed  with  agony. 
That  then  shall  be  bright  with  the  holy  glow 

Of  eternal  felicity. 

Then  let  the  sands  of  existence  fall, 

The  current  of  life  flow  fast ; 
Our  times  are  in  God's  own  hand,  and  all, 

All  will  be  well  at  last. 
If  bitterness  dreg  our  earthly  cup, 

If  sorrow  disturb  our  career, 
Eternity's  joys  can  well  fill  up 

The  chasms  of  suffering  here. 


THURSDAY   MORNING. 

The  orient  is  lighted  with  crimson  glow, 
The  night  and  its  dreams  are  fled, 

And  the  glorious  roll  of  nature  now 
Is  in  all  its  brightness  spread. 


THURSDAY    MORNING. 


The  autumn  has  tinged  the  trees  with  gold, 
And  crimsoned  the  shrubs  of  the  hills ; 

And  the  full  seed  sleeps  in  earth's  bosom  cold, 
And  hope  all  the  universe  fills. 

Hope  gladdens  the  world  with  its  living  ray, 

And  smiles  serenely  on  all ; 
It  scatters  a  thousand  charms  in  its  way 

Over  this  earthly  ball : 
It  has  streams  of  peace  and  joy  and  love, 

To  water  this  valley  of  death  ; 
And  brings  the  flowers  of  heaven  from  above 

For  virtue's  undying  wreath. 

O,  say,  hast  thou  watched  the  maternal  care, 

Smiling  on  infancy  ? 
O,  say,  hast  thou  seen  the  joy-born  tear, 

Bright  in  a  mother's  eye  ? 
Hast  thou  marked  the  babe  on  her  bosom  mild, 

Slumbering  in  innocence  yet  ? 
O,  she  may  forget  that  lovely  child  ; 

But  God  can  never  forget. 

That  God  in  His  equal  scales  hath  weighed 

Our  share  of  evil  and  good ; 
He  hath  blended  our  portions  of  light  and  shade 

10*  H 


114  THURSDAY    MORNING. 

In  a  wise  vicissitude. 
He  has  tempered  our  sunshine  with  sober  gloom, 

Lest  its  glare  should  dazzle  our  sense  ; 
And  has  given  a  warning  voice  to  the  tomb, 

To  summon  our  thoughts  from  hence. 

To  Thee  will  I  look,  in  Thee  confide, 

For  my  times  are  in  Thy  right  hand  ; 
And  O,  to  my  spirit  be  sanctified 

Whatever  Thy  wisdom  has  planned. 
My  heart  shall  never  'gainst  Thee  rebel. 

My  soul  no  murmurer  be  ; 
For  all  is  conducted  wisely,  well, 

Since  all  is  conducted  by  Thee. 

O,  ne'er  be  that  Father  forgotten  by  me, 

Who  never  His  children  forgot ; 
The  fountain  of  wisdom  and  virtue  is  He, 

To  each  He  apportions  his  lot. 
He  is  light  and  knowledge  and  purity  ; 

We,  darkness  and  doubt  alone  : 
The  fragile  children  of  dust  are  we, 

And  He  —  the  Eternal  One  ! 

His  years  decay  not  —  He  sits  sublime 
On  eternity's  glowing  car ; 


THURSDAY    EVENING.  115 

His  ages  are  measured  not  by  time, 

And  the  days  that  departed  are 
Add  nothing  to  His  existence  ;  nought 

Shall  be  added  by  coming  years  : 
But  here  man's  utmost  stretch  of  thought 

Helpless  and  vain  appears. 

Our  days  like  the  leaves  of  autumn  fall ; 

And  yet  a  few  mornings  more, 
And  the  bell  shall  toll  for  our  funeral, 

And  the  dream  of  life  be  o'er. 
The  sun  may  in  clouds  and  storm  descend, 

And  the  shades  of  night  appear  ; 
My  Father  is  there,  my  heavenly  Friend  ; 

O,  what  should  my  spirit  fear  ? 


THURSDAY    EVENING. 

THE  PRESENCE   OF  GOD. 
(From  the  Spanish  of  Melendez.) 

Where'er  I  turn  my  restless  eye, 

Wandering   from   earth   to   heaven,  from   sphere  to 

sphere, 
Great  God  !  I  feel  Thy  present  Deity, 
Every  where  feel  Thee  —  Thou  art  every  where. 


116  THURSDAY    EVENING. 

Yes  !  Thou  art  there  —  above  the  empyreum  high, 

Veiled  all  in  light : 

Filling  creation  with  Thy  presence  bright, 

With  the  proud  splendor  of  Thy  majesty. 

The  little  flower  that  grows 

Beneath  me  ;  the  gigantic  mountain  steep, 

Whose  brow  is  covered  with  eternal  snows, 

Whose  roots  are  planted  in  the  deep  ; 

The  breeze  that  murmuring  blows 

Among  the  green  leaves,  rustling  in  the  sun  , 

And  yonder  glorious  star,  advancing  on, 

Gladdening  earth,  heaven,  and  all  things  as  he  goes ; 

These  tell  me  that  'tis  Thou 

Who  giv'st   that  sun   his   brightness  —  Thou  whose 

wing, 
Upon  the  rapid  whirlwind  journeying, 
From  the  Aurora  to  the  West  doth  go  ; 
And  that  tbe  mountain's  towering  height 
Is  Thy  majestic  throne  ; 

And  that  the  flower  which  breathes  and  blooms  alone, 
Breathes,  blooms  in  Thy  pure  sight. 
'Tis  Thine  immensity 

Which  compasses  all  this,  and  more.;  confessed, 
As  in  the  greatest,  —  in  the  least ; 
Atom  —  or  comet,  blazing  through  the  sky  : 
Thine  is  the  circling  robe 
Of  darkness — Thine  the  subtle  veil 


THURSDAY    EVENING.  117 

Of  the  opening  morning  pale, 

When  first  she  throws  her  glories  o'er  the  globe. 

And  when  the  spring  descends 

On  the  wide  world,  and  decks  her  joyous  bowers, 

Thou  smilest  gently  in  her  loveliest  flowers  : 

Thy  spirit  with  their  sweetest  odors  blends. 

When  the  red  Sirius  bears 

His  burning  ardors  through  the  summer  hour, 

Thy  breezes  play  among  the  swelling  ears, 

And  calm  and  temper  his  too  furious  power. 

I  seek  the  leafy  shade, 

And  Thou  art  there  ;  among  the  welcoming  trees 

I  feel  Thy  visitings  in  the  freshened  breeze  ; 

My  spirit  rests  —  my  cares,  my  sorrows  fade. 

Then  a  religious  fear 

Troubles  my  bosom  —  and  I  hear  a  sound  : 

"  Humbly  adore  Him  here, 

In  this  mysterious  solitude  profound." 

Thou  art  upon  the  mighty  waves 

Of  the  deep  sea  ;  and  Thou  dost  bind 

The  bursting  fury  of  the  wind  — 

Or  let  it  loose,  when  the  wild  tempest  raves. 

Where'er  I  go,  where'er  I  turn, 

I  see  Thee,  feel  Thee !  —  in  the  flowery  mead, 

As  in  the  starry  field  above  our  head, 


118  THURSDAY    EVENING. 

Where  such  unnumbered  torches  burn. 

Thou  art  the  God  of  atoms  —  as  of  suns  ! 

Of  the  poor,  perishing  worm 

That  in  the  dust  the  eye  of  mortals  shuns ; 

Or  angels  pure,  who  veil  their  dazzled  form 

Before  Thee  !  —  Thou  dost  hear  the  hymn 

Of  this  Thy  lowly  worshipper  ;  of  the  poor 

And  innocent  lamb  the  bleatings  —  as  the  roar 

Of  the  fierce  lion,  —  or  of  seraphim 

The  anthem  ;  and  to  all  beneficent 

Thou  bendest  down  Thine  ear,  and  givest 

Their  destined  portion.     Thou,  who  reignest,  livest 

Eternally,  the  offering  I  present 

Accept  in  mercy,  —  mercifully  view 

This  transitory  being,  —  let  me  stand 

As  ever  in  Thy  presence  —  see  Thy  hand 

In  all  things,  and  in  all  Thy  wisdom  too. 

Fill  up  my  mounting  soul 

With  holy  ardor,  —  that  where'er  I  tread, 

Like  Thee  I  may  a  blessed  influence  shed, 

And   own  Thee,  trace  Thee   through  the   extended 

whole 
Of  the  wide  universe.     The  race  of  man 
Are  all  Thy  sons  —  the  Tartar,  Laplander, 
Rude  Indian,  and  the  sunburnt  African  — 
Thine  image  all  —  and  all  my  brethren  are. 


FRIDAY    MORNING.  119 


FRIDAY    MORNING. 

This  is  the  day  when  prejudice  and  guilt  * 

The  blood  of  innocence  and  virtue  spilt ! 

?Twas  in  those  orient  .Syrian  lands  afar, 

O'er  whose  high  mountains  towers  the  morning  star  ; 

Lands  now  to  tyranny  and  treachery  given, 

But  then  the  special  care  and  charge  of  Heaven  ; 

Lands,  now  by  ignorance  and  darkness  trod, 

Then  shining  brightest  in  the  light  of  God  ! 

Holiest  and  best  of  men !  'twas  there  thou  walkedst, 
There  with  thy  faithful,  privileged  followers  talkedst ; 
Privileged  indeed,  listening  to  truth  divine 
Breathed  from  a  heart,  and  taught  by  lips,  like  thine  ! 

He  that  from  all  life's  strange  vicissitude 
Drew  forth  the  living,  hidden  soul  of  good  ; 
And  in  the  strength  of  wisdom,  and  the  might 
Of  peaceful  virtue,  fought  and  won  the  fight : 
His  armor  righteousness  —  his  conquering  sword 
A  spiritual  weapon  —  his  prophetic  word 
The  arms  of  truth,  —  his  banners  from  above  — 
His  conquests  meekness,  and  his  warfare  love. 
He  stands  a  pillar  'midst  his  children  ;  grace 


120  FRIDAY    MORNING. 

And  majesty  and  truth  illume  his  face  ; 

He  bows  his  head  and  dies  !     The  very  rock 

Is  rent,  and  Zion  trembles  at  the  shock  ! 

But-  though  he  dies,  he  triumphs  —  and  in  vain 

Would  unbelief  oppose  his  conquering  reign  ; 

A  reign  o'erspreading  nature  —  gathering  in 

Kindreds  and  nations  from  the  tents  of  sin 

To  virtue's  temple.     O,  how  calm,  how  great, 

A  death  like  this  !       Come,  then,  and  venerate 

Your  Savior  and  your  King.     All  hail !     All  hail ! 

The  songs  of  gratitude  shall  fill  the  vale, 

And  echo  from  the  mountains,  and  shall  rise 

In  one  consenting  tribute  to  the  skies. 

Sow  then,  thy  seed  —  that  seed  will  spring,  and  give 

Rich  fruits  and  fairest  flowers,  that  will  survive 

All  chance,  all  change  :  and  though  the  night  may 

come, 
And  though  the  deeper  darkness  of  the  tomb, 
A  sun  more  bright  than  ours  shall  bid  them  grow, 
And  on  the  very  grave  hope's  buds  will  blow, 
And  blow  like  those  sweet  flowers  that,  plucked,  ne'er 

lose 
Their  freshness,  nor  their  fragrance,  nor  their  hues. 

Now  the  day  calls  us  with  its  eloquent  ray ; 
O,  let  us  toil  unwearied  while  'tis  day, 


FRIDAY   EVENING.  121 

For  the  night  cometh,  all  enveloping 
But  virtue,  that  on  spiritual  soaring  wing 
Flies  to  its  rest !     'Tis  but  a  pilgrim  here, 
Shaping  its  course  towards  a  better  sphere, 
Where  its  own  mansion  is  ;  yet,  in  its  flight, 
Dropping  from  its  pinions  healing  and  delight ; 
And  from  the  darkest  shades,  like  some  fair  star 
Of  midnight,  scattering  beams  of  light  afar. 


FRIDAY    EVENING. 

Father  !  Source  of  light  and  love  ! 
Thou,  whose  throne  of  majesty, 
Fixed  yon  thousand  suns  above, 
Gladdens  all  the  earth  with  joy  : 
Mercy-streaming,  promise-beaming, 
Let  Thy  praise  my  soul  employ. 


What  is  man,  that  he  should  share 
Goodness  bright  and  blest  as  Thine 
What  is  man,  that  heavenly  care, 
Heavenly  kindness,  power  divine, 
Ever-guiding,  joy-betiding, 
Should  be  his,  and  should  be  mine  ? 
11 


122  FRIDAY    EVENING. 

From  this  narrow  vale  of  clay 
Let  me  waft  my  thoughts  to  Thee  ; 
Soar  from  night  to  heavenly  day, 
And  in  Thv  benignity 

Seek  my  pleasures  —  hoard  my  treasures 
Earth  can  be  no  home  to  me. 

On  Thy  holy  name  I  call ; 

At  Thy  sacred  :  I  stand  ; 

All  sprung  forth  from  good  —  and  all 

Tends  to  good  beneath  Thy  hand  : 

Streams  the  purest,  joys  the 

Flow  and  smile  at  Thy  command. 

When  the  earth  is  clad  in  gloom, 
And  the  dark  clouds  coldly  frown, 
Nature  —  like  a  wintry  tomb 
Wrapped  in  mists  —  its  brightness  gone, 
Lustre-shedding,  pleasure-spreading, 
Then  Thy  sun  shines  out  alone. 

Gray  m  her  o'er  the  wa~ 

Dry  leaves  rustle  in  the  rain, 
Visions  haunt  the  hiRy  gray 

And  death's  hourglass  turns  again. 
Solemn  warning  —  night  and  morn 
To  the  careless  crowds  of  men. 


FRIDAY    EVENING.  123 

Know  ye  how,  ye  idle  ones  ! 
Sporting  by  the  torrent's  side, 
Know  ye  how  existence  runs 
To  the  eternal  ocean's  tide, 
Bliss-alloying,  hope-destroying, 
Scattering  joy  in  ruins  wide  ? 

Careless  wanderer,  ne'er  forget 
All  the  dangers  threatening  o'er ; 
Do  hope's  dreams  delude  thee  yet  ? 
Soon  they  shall  delude  no  more  : 
Hope  is  faithless,  tired  and  breathless  ; 
Oft  'tis  wrecked  on  sorrow's  shore. 

Hope,  that  builds  its  airy  schemes 
On  time's  transitory  star, 
Revels  in  delusive  dreams, 
Which  an  ignis  fatuus  are  ; 
Ever  smiling,  and  beguiling, 
Still  misleading  pilgrims  far. 

But  the  hope,  the  faith,  whose  tower 
Stands  upon  heaven's  arches  high, 
Well  supported  by  the  power 
Of  eternal  prophecy, 
Firm-erected ,  heaven-protected, 
Never  can  in  ruins  lie. 


124  SATURDAY    MORNING. 


SATURDAY   MORNING. 

The  sun  comes  forward  in  his  purple  robe 
From  the  dark  chambers  of  the  tranquil  night ! 
The  smiles  of  morning  gild  the  gladdened  globe, 
And  all  the  world  is  bathed  in  liquid  light. 
Now  love  and  pleasure  sing  their  choral  song ; 
And,  springing  to  a  renovated  birth, 
A  thousand  spirits  of  joy  and  music  throng 
The  wide,  magnificent  expanse  of  earth  ; 
As  fresh  as  if  the  intelligent  Former's  hand 
Had  waked  its  earliest  smile  of  bliss  to-day  ; 
Bright  as  if  even  now  the  enamelled  land 
First  sprung  to  being  'neath  His  living  ray. 
So  rises  nature  from  her  nightly  sleep, 
Joyous,  —  till  evening's  darkening  shades  descend, 
And  then  she  sinks  again  in  silence  deep  ; 
Emblem  of  man  !  whose  hurried  footsteps  tend 
With  daily  impulse  towards  the  welcoming  tomb. 
Father  !  to  Thee  my  eager  spirit  turns, 
While  joy  and  gratitude  my  path  illume, 
And  with  rekindled  praise  my  bosom  burns ; 
Mine  eye  looks  far  beyond  the  stars  ;  I  breathe 
The  breath  of  heaven  ;  angels  of  peace,  of  light, 


SATURDAY   MORNING.  125 

Wave  their  wings  o'er  me  —  and  the  vale,  of  death 
Is  with  Thy  radiance  beautiful  and  bright. 

Yes  !  Father  !  all  that's  lovely  is  from  Thee  ; 

All  that  is  pure  and  excellent  is  Thine. 

Praise  Him,  thou  morning  sun  of  majesty  ! 

Thou  moon  of  midnight,  in  His  glory  shine  ! 

Him  worship,  thou  fair  stream  of  life  !  adore 

His  name,  thou  sad  machinery  of  decay  ! 

Sing  His  high  praise,  ye  planets  shining  o'er  ! 

Ye  worms  of  dust,  come,  join  the  general  lay ! 

My  soul  shall  speak  Thy  glory  —  hymn  more  sweet 

Never  inspired  the  lyre  ;  and  never  seer 

Nor  prophet  sought  a  theme  more  pure,  more  meet, 

And  never  pilgrim,  saint,  nor  worshipper, 

Found  a  sublimer  thought  to  dwell  upon  : 

Thy  glory  !  —  'tis  a  thought  absorbing  all  — 

E'en  like  the  splendid,  ever-radiant  sun, 

Scattering  the  mists  that  with  the  morning  fall. 

And  thus  let  week  on  week  roll  swiftly  by  ; 
Each  in  its  hurrying  career  must  bring 
Our  spirits  nearer  to  eternity  ; 
And  every  moment  in  its  course  shall  fling 
Some  mortal  vestments  down  —  until  at  last, 
Hope  smiling  sweetly  through  the  future  hours, 
11* 


126  SATURDAY    EVENIJNG. 

And  joyous  memory  gilding  all  the  past, 
The  soul  shall  reach  those  amaranthine  bowers 
Which  dawn  upon  the  dreaming  poet's  eye  ; 
And,  resting  there  on  immortality, 
Drink  in  the  stream  of  never-dying  joy. 


SATURDAY   EVENING. 

The  cold  wind  strips  the  yellow  leaf; 
The  stars  are  twinkling  faintly  o'er  us  ; 
All  nature  wears  her  garb  of  grief; 
While  day's  fair  book  is  closed  before  us. 

The  songs  have  ceased,  —  and  busy  men 
Are  to  their  beds  of  silence  creeping ; 
The  pale,  cold  moon  looks  out  again 
On  the  tired  world  so  softly  sleeping. 

O,  in  an  hour  so  still  as  this, 

From  care,  and  toil,  and  tumult  stealing, 

I'll  consecrate  an  hour  to  bliss  — 

To  meek  devotion's  holy  feeling  ; 

And  rise  to  Thee  —  to  Thee,  whose  hand 
Unrolled  the  golden  map  of  heaven ; 


SATURDAY    EVENING.  127 

Mantled  with  beauty  all  the  land  ; 
Gave  light  to  morn  and  shade  to  even. 

Being,  whose  all-pervading  might 
The  laws  of  countless  worlds  disposes  ; 
Yet  gives  the  sparkling  dews  their  light  — * 
Their  beauty  to  the  blushing  roses. 

Thou,  Ruler  of  our  destiny  ! 
With  million  gifts  hast  Thou  supplied  us, 
Hidden  from  our  view  futurity, 
Unveiling  all  the  past  to  guide  us. 

Though  dark  may  be  earth's  vale,  and  damp, 
A  thousand  stars  shine  sweetly  o'er  us, 
And  immortality's  pure  lamp 
Gladdens  and  gilds  our  path  before  us. 

And  in  the  silence  of  the  scene     ■ 

Sweet  tones  from  heaven  are  softly  speaking, 

Celestial  music  breathes  between, 

The  slumbering  soul  of  bliss  awaking. 

Short  is  the  darkest  night,  whose  shade 
Wraps  nature's  breast  in  clouds  of  sadness  ; 


128  SATURDAY    EVENING. 

And  joy's  sweet  flowers,  that  seem  to  fade, 
Shall  bloom  anew  in  kindling  gladness. 

Death's  darkness  is  more  bright,  to  him 
Who  looks  beyond  in  visions  holy, 
Than  passion's  fires,  or  splendor's  dream, 
Or  all  the  glare  of  sin  and  folly. 

The  silent  tear,  the  deep-fetched  sigh, 
Which  virtue  heaves  in  hours  of  quiet, 
Are  dearer  than  pomp's  revelry, 
Or  the  mad  laugh  of  frenzied  riot ; 

Smiles  from  a  conscience  purified, 
Far  lovelier  than  the  fleeting  glory 
Conferred  in  all  a  monarch's  pride, 
Embalmed  in  all  the  light  of  story. 

This  joy  be  ours  —  our  weeks  shall  roll  — 
And  let  them  roll  —  our  bark  is  driven 
Safe  to  its  harbor  —  and  our  soul 
Awaking,  shall  awake  in  heaven. 


FOURTH    WEEK. 

WINTER. 

SUNDAY   MORNING. 

God  of  the  morning  !     Thou,  the  Sabbath's  God ! 

Round  whose  bright  footsteps  thousand  planets  rol!  : 

A  million  beings  at  Thy  mighty  nod 

Are  born  ;  —  and  perish  as  they  reach  their  goal. 

How  great  art  Thou  !  —  an  unimagined  deep 

Of  wisdom  and  of  power  !  —  Thy  laws  how  sure  — 

Thy  way  how  full  of  mystery !  —  Thou  dost  keep 

Thy  court  among  the  heavens,  sublime  and  pure 

And  unapproachable  :  the  tired  eye  breaks 

Ere  it  can  reach  Thee.  —  Who  can  fathom  Thee  ? 

Who  read  Thy  counsels  ?     Thought  exhausted  seeks 

Thy  path  in  vain.     'Tis  o'er  the  mighty  sea, 

On  the  tall  mountain,  in  the  rushing  wind, 

And  the  mad  tempest.  —  In  a  cloudy  car, 

Wrapped  in  thick  darkness  rides  th'  Eternal  Mind 

O'er  land  and  ocean,  and  from  star  to  star. 

Hast  thou  not  seen  Him  in  His  proud  career. 

Or  heard  His  awful  voice  ?     O,  look  around, 

For  He  is  always  visible,  always  near, 

T  129 


130  SUNDAY    MORNING. 

Listen  to  His  eloquent  words,  in  every  sound 

Of  zephyr,  waterfall,  or  birds,  or  bees, 

Or  thousand  songs,  these  sweet  and  those  sublime  ; 

All  nature's  intellectual  harmonies, 

And  the  soft  music  of  the  stream  of  time. 

See  Him  in  the  vernal  beauty  of  the  flower, 

In  the  ripe  glory  of  the  autumnal  glow  ; 

In  summer's  rich  and  radiant  festal  hour, 

In  winter's  purest,  fairest  robes  of  snow  : 

There  art  Thou  !  —  not  in  temples  built  by  the  hand 

Of  vanity  —  by  the  unproductive  toil 

Of  the  hot  brow,  or  by  the  fierce  command 

Of  tyrants,  or  with  shame-collected  spoil. 

Thy  temple  is  the  universe  !     Thy  throne 

Raised  on  the  stars  :  Thy  light  is  every  where  : 

And  ceaseless  music  hymns  th'  Eternal  One 

All-eloquent —  nor  can  the  listening  ear 

Mistake  that  homage,  which  all  time,  all  space, 

Pours  forth  to  Thee  ;  and  shall  while  worlds  endure. 

Who  sees  not  Thy  bright  smile  in  Nature's  face  ? 

Who  Thy  high  spirit,  beautiful  and  pure, 

Marks  not  throughout  existence  ?     All  we  have 

And  all  we  hope  for  is  Thy  gift  :  and  man 

Without  Thee  is  a  faint  and  fettered  slave, 

Driven  by  the  winds  of  passion,  without  plan 

Or  purpose,  or  pursuit  becoming  :  —  Thou 

Art  great,  arid  great  are  all  Thy  works,  and  great 


SUNDAY   EVENING.  131 

Shall  be  Thy  praise.     Before  Thy  throne  we  bow ; 
To  Thee  our  prayers,  our  vows  we  consecrate. 

0  Thou  Eternal  Being  !  clad  in  light, 

1  in  the  dust  before  Thy  presence  fall, 
And  ask  for  wisdom  in  Thy  hallowed  sight, 
To  lead  my  steps  to  Thee.     How  calmly  all 
Sleeps  in  the  stillness  of  the  Sabbath  morn, 
As  if  to  sanctify  the  sacred  day ! 

The  spirit  of  peace,  on  the  mild  zephyrs  borne, 

Glides  gently  on  the  tranquil  morning's  ray ; 

And  in  a  solemn  pause  all  nature  seems 

To  feel  the  present  Deity ;  He  speaks 

In  the  twilight  melodies  —  smiles  in  the  fair  beams 

Which  from  His  locks  the  star  of  morning  shakes. 

Heaven  is  His  canopy,  His  footstool  earth, 

A  thousand  worlds  His  throne  !     O  Lord,  to  Thee, 

Holiest  and  mightiest !  Source  of  light,  of  worth, 

Be  praise  and  glory  through  eternity ! 


SUNDAY   EVENING. 

Sweetly  is  the  Sabbath  fled, 
Day  of  peace  and  rest  to  me  ; 


132  SUNDAY   EVENING. 

"Let  Thy  name  be  hallowed." 
Now  my  spirit  soars  to  Thee. 
Darkness  deep,  or  distance  wide, 
Cannot  man  from  God  divide. 

O'er  heaven's  thousand  burning  lamps 
Towers  Thy  glorious  palace  high  ; 
Through  the  evening's  twilight  damps, 
O'er  the  morning's  splendent  sky, 
From  the  orient  to  the  west, 
Thou  art  present,  Mightiest ! 

Wisdom  sees  Thee  shining  brightly 
In  the  starry  worlds  above  ; 
Virtue  hears  Thee  speaking  nightly 
From  those  orbs  of  light  and  love  ; 
Smiling  youth  and  hoary  age 
Praise  Thee  in  their  pilgrimage. 

Whereso'er  Thy  name  is  known  — 
Every  where  —  an  altar  stands 
Raised  to  Thee,  the  Eternal  One, 
By  devotion's  holy  hands  ; 
Thou  art  an  undying  flame, 
Shining  through  all  time  the  same. 


SUNDAY   EVENING.  133 


Piety,  Thy  favorite  child, 
Gently  leads  our  hearts  to  Thee  ; 
Virtue,  like  an  angel  mild, 
Heralded  by  piety, 
Guides  us  with  her  torches  bright, 
Through  time's  solitary  night. 

Hallowed  be  Thy  holy  name, 
Lord  of  spirits  and  of  men  ; 
Ne'er  may  virtue's  sacred  flame 
Die  within  our  souls  again  ; 
But  conduct  Thy  pilgrims  on 
To  Thy  high  and  heavenly  throne. 

Be  our  journey  short  or  long, 
Yet  we  know  not ;  —  but  we  know, 
Days  and  weeks  and  ages  throng 
Time's  unintermitting  flow ; 
And  to-morrow,  or  to-day, 
Shall  our  bark  be  swept  away. 

Roll,  thou  ever-flowing  tide ; 
We,  upon  the  billows  driven,     • 
O'er  the  mighty  stream  shall  ride 
To  the  peaceful  port  of  heaven ; 
12 


134  MONDAY   MORNING. 

There  no  shipwrecks  strew  the  shorev 
There  nor  waves  nor  tempests  roar. 

Trim  we  then  our  little  sail ; 
Calmly  let  us  onward  steer  ; 
Blow,  thou  heaven-directing  gale  ! 
Ocean,  waft  the  mariner  ! 
See  thy  haven,  see  thy  home  ; 
Come,  thou  weary  traveller,  come  ! 


MONDAY   MORNING. 

And  so  the  active  week  again 

Its  course  begins  —  and  so  renewed, 

Our  moments'  busy  multitude, 

Falling  like  rapid  drops  of  rain, 

Sink  in  the  grave  ;  and  so  we  die  ; 

The  woods  will  have  lost  their  harmony, 

Life's  sun  sink  down  in  the  gloomy  west ; — 

The  beauty  that  gladdened  the  eye  is  faded, 

The  spirit  of  joy  is  hushed  to  rest, 

The  smiles  which  delighted  the  soul  are  shaded, 

The  stars  of  heaven  are  clouded, 

And  the  glorious  brightness  of  day  ; 


MONDAY    MORNING.  135 

And  he  who  on  rapture's  bosom  lay, 

In  the  funeral  bier  is  shrouded. 

Peace  smiled  from  her  sanctuary, 

She  smiled  —  but  smiles  no  more  ; 

For  the  grave  has  closed  its  prison  door 

On  the  pilgrim  weak  and  weary. 

In  frowns  and  storms  the  morning  calls  ; 

And  man,  who  was  yesterday  glad  and  gay 

As  the  evening  ephemera, 

Like  the  ephemera  falls. 

Long  and  sweet  is  the  tired  one's  sleep  ; 

But  calmer  his  sleep  and  softer  his  bed 

Whose  pillow  is  made  of  the  grave-clod  deep, 

With  the  green  grass  over  his  head. 

Curtained  is  he  by  the  vapor's  damp, 

Lulled  by  the  song  of  the  even  ; 

Lighted  is  he  by  the  pale  moon's  lamp, 

Watched  by  the  eye  of  Heaven. 

Others  may  hear  the  heavy  bell  toll, 

Others  the  funeral  train  may  see  ; 

He  hears  no  dirge  for  his  slumbering  soul, 

He  is  sleeping  tranquilly. 

There  let  him  rest,  —  he  toiled  a  while, 

And  now  he  throws  off  his  burden  of  toil. 

There  is  a  world  whose  cares,  like  this, 


136  MONDAY    MORNING. 

Can  never  disturb  the  calm  of  bliss, 

Where  He,  who  is  the  great  light  of  all, 

In  His  own  peculiar  glory  shineth  ; 

Who  turned  in  His  hand  this  worldly  ball, 

And  its  hopes  and  its  memories  sweetly  entwineth. 

He  raised  heaven's  azure  arch  sublime 

On  pillars  of  strength  that  totter  never  ; 

Man  is  the  victim  of  death,  of  time, 

Thou  remainest  the  same  forever. 

These  shall  perish,  while  Thou  endurest, 

These  as  a  vestment  shalt  Thou  change  ; 

Thou  remainest  strongest,  surest, 

Through  eternity's  endless  range. 

Thou  Thyself  art  Eternity  — 

'Tis  but  another  name  for  Thee  ! 

Suns  may  be  darkened,  and  planets  shake, 

Earthquakes  may  stony  mountains  break, 

Comets  may  swallow  up  the  sea  ; 

But  Thou,  unmoved  as  the  splendid  sun, 

This  sandy  desert  shining  on, 

Lookest  on  creation  and  decay, 

And  still  pursuest  Thy  glorious  way, 

Wrapped  in  Thine  own  immensity. 

What  should  we  fear  ?  waking  or  sleeping, 
Man  is  alike  in  Thy  holy  keeping. 


MONDAY    EVENING.  137 

Let  him  not  shrink,  though  his  bark  be  driven 
Jy  the  mad  storm  — let  nought  alarm  him  ; 
The  tempest  may  burst,  but  cannot  harm  him  ; 
Safely  he  steers  to  his  port  in  heaven. 
God  is  around  us,,  o'er  us,  near  us, 
What  have  his  children  then  to  fear  ? 
Is  He  not  always  present  to  hear  us, 
Willing  to  grant,  as  willing  to  hear  ? 


MONDAY   EVENING. 

The  night  has  thrown  its  shadows  o'er  the  land, 
And  rest  revisits  nature.  —  Evening's  train, 
With  day's  extinguished  torches  in  their  hand, 
Have  passed  the  twilight's  western  gates  again. 
On  the  damp  hills  the  stars  are  glittering, 
The  mists  are  hanging  round  the  forests  deep, 
While    from  their  silver   thrones   the   cold    frosts 

fling 
Their  fetters  o'er  the  vanquished  earth  —  and  keep 
The  streams  in  icy  bondage.     Happy  he 
Who  to  his  bed  of  slumber  can  retire, 
To  rest  in  sweet  and  sound  tranquillity  ; 
While  untormented  by  a  vain  desire, 
12* 


138  MONDAY   EVENING. 

Or  a  reproaching  spirit,  he  may  dwell 
Securely  and  serenely.     To  the  good 
The  conscience  is  a  fearless  citadel, 
Where  nought  of  doubt  or  danger  can  intrude. 
The  darkness  mantles  him,  —  and  till  the  hour 
When  sleep  upon  his  eyelids  sinks,  he  takes 
Sweet  counsel  with  that  ever-present  Power 
Who  out  of  night  His  robes  of  brightness  makes ; 
And  from  beyond  this  narrow-bounded  vale, 
Watered  by  tears  —  by  vapors  curtained  round  — 
And  canopied  in  clouds  —  his  thoughts  can  hail 
That  awful  Majesty  whose  light  is  found 
Descending  and  pervading  the  pure  heart 
That  seeks  His  presence,  while  its  cheering  glow 
A  lustre  and  a  smile  of  light  impart 
To  all  the  shades  of  solitude  and  woe. 

Though  the  earth  tremble  at  Thy  coming,  Lord  ! 
Thy  children  may  approach  Thee  —  may  adore ; 
There  is  salvation,  Father !  in  Thy  word, 
And  Thy  diffusive  Spirit  shining  o'er 
Earth's  valley,  makes  earth  cheerful.     In  its  rays 
We  move  rejoicing  onwards  —  bent  beneath 
The  burden  of  our  nothingness,  we  praise 
And  magnify:Thy  name.     In  life,  in  death, 
Alike  we  see  Thy  glory.     From  Thy  throne 


TUESDAY    MORNING.  139 

Rivers  of  strength  and  life  roll  forth,  that  lave 

All  the  created  world.     On  Thee  alone 

The  world  and  all  its  tribes  depend.     The  grave 

Has  for  Thy  love  a  tongue.     E'en  as  the  night 

Its  starry  garlands  and  its  hymns  —  I  hear, 

I  hear  the  voices  of  the  sons  of  light, 

Blending  and  circling  round  from  sphere  to  sphere. 

Each  star  a  chord  of  music  —  a  wave's  flow 

In  the  majestic  sea  of  song  that  rolls 

In  ceaseless  tides  of  harmony,  which  know 

No  rest  —  no  discord.     There  departed  souls 

Join  the  eternal  chorus.     Thence  they  speak 

To  us  poor  pilgrims  wandering  still  on  earth  — 

They  bid  us  soar  above  earth's  vale  —  and  seek 

The  country  where  our  holier  parts  had  birth, 

And  whither  they  are  tending.     Father  !  thither 

My  eager  heart  aspires  —  and  when  this  scene 

Fades  round  me  —  and  its  passing  flowerets  wither  — 

There  let  me  rest  rewarded  and  serene. 


TUESDAY  MORNING. 

Almighty  One  !  I  bend  in  dust  before  Thee, 
Even  so  veiled  cherubs  bend  ;  — 


140  TUESDAY    MORNING. 

In  calm  and  still  devotion  I  adore  Thee, 

All-wise,  all-present  Friend  ! 
Thou  to  the  earth  its  emerald  robes  hast  given, 

Or  curtained  it  in  snow ; 
And  the  bright  sun,  and  the  soft  moon  in  heaven, 

Before  Thy  presence  bow. 

Thou  in  Thy  wisdom  spread'st  the  map  of  nature, 

That  map  so  fair  and  bright ; 
Rearedst  the  arch  of  heaven  —  on  every  creature 

Pouring  its  streams  of  light. 
Thou  feed'st  with  dew  the  early  spring  rose  glow- 
ing, 

Quickenest  the  teeming  sea ; 
Thine  is  the  storm  through  the  dark  forest  blowing, 

Thine,  heaven's  soft  harmony. 

Thine  is  the  beam  on  ocean's  bosom  glancing, 

Thine  is  the  thunder  cloud, 
Thine  are  the  lamps  that  light  our  steps,  advancing 

To  the  tomb's  solitude. 
Thou  speakest  —  and  all  nature's  pregnant  bosom 

Heaves  with  Thy  mighty  breath  ; 
Thou  frownest —  man,  even  like  a  frost-nipped  blos- 
som, 

Drops  in  the  lap  of  death. 


TUESDAY    MORNING.  141 

A  thousand  worlds  which  roll  around  us  brightly, 

Thee  in  their  orbits  bless ; 
Ten  thousand  suns  which  shine  above  us  nightly, 

Proclaim  Thy  righteousness. 
Thou  did'st  create  the  world  —  'twas  Thy  proud  man- 
date 

That  woke  it  unto  day  ; 
And  the  same. Power  that  measured,  weighed,  and 
spanned  it, 

Shall  bid  that  world  decay. 

Thou  Power  sublime  !  whose  throne  is  firmly  seated 

On  stars  and  glowing  suns ; 
O,  could  I  praise  Thee  —  could  my  soul  elated 

Waft  Thee  seraphic  tones  ; 
Had  I  the  lyres  of  angels  —  could  I  bring  Thee 

An  offering  worthy  Thee, 
In  what  bright  notes  of  glory  would  I  sing  Thee 

Blest  notes  of  ecstasy  ! 

Here  is  my  song,  a  voice  of  mortal  weakness 

Just  breathing  from  my  breast ; 
A  mingled  song  of  worthlessness  and  meekness 

And  feeble  hope,  at  best.  *>■ 

In  heaven  that  voice,  up  to  Thy  throne  ascending, 

Should  speak  as  angels  speak, 


142  TUESDAY    EVENING. 

And  joy  and  confidence  and  glory  blending, 
Thy  seat  of  light  should  seek. 

Eternity  !  Eternity  !  —  how  solemn, 

How  terrible  the  sound  ! 
Here,  leaning  on  Thy  promises  —  a  column 

Of  strength  —  may  I  be  found. 
O,  let  my  heart  be  ever  Thine,  while  beating, 

As  when  'twill  cease  to  beat ; 
Be  Thou  my  portion  —  till  that  awful  meeting, 

When  I  my  God  shall  greet. 


TUESDAY    EVENING. 

The  earth  again  puts  on  its  evening  dress ; 
And  wakening  yon  innumerable  stars, 
A  twilight,  milder  than  the  eye  of  day 
And  fairer  than  the  calm  of  night,  is  spread 
O'er  universal  nature  ;  from  above 
Shadows  descend,  solicitous  to  veil 
The  sins  of  the  reposing  world  ;  —  to  soothe 
Hearts  bearing  with  anxiety,  —  to  lull 
The  tumults  of  ambition.  —  quell  the  thirst 
Of  greedy  avarice,  —  and  to  cheat  the  care 


TUESDAY    EVENING.  143 

Of  wantonness,  that  crowns  its  head  with  thorns. 
The  perjured  tongue,  the  rapine-scheming  head, 
The  murderous  hand,  the  vile  and  counterfeit  heart, 
The    eye    that   sheds    false    tears  —  thou,    darksome 

night ! 
Veil  in  thy  charity  —  be  the  o'erarching  tomb, 
Though  for  a  moment,  to  the  mass  of  sins 
Which  morn,  alas  !  shall  wake  again,  —  and  day 
Let  loose  like  bandits  on  the  unsheltered  world. 
And  O,  if  in  the  visions  of  the  night 
A  ministering  angel  might  descend,  —  a  voice 
Be  heard  in  the  still  silence,  to  recall 
Those  wanderers  to  the  fold  of  blessedness  ! 
Yet  midnight  shade,  though  dark  and  deep  it  be, 
Will  hide  them  not  from  Him,  to  whom  the  gloom 
Is  bright  as  noontide.     Let  the  solemn  thought 
Come  o'er  my  soul,  that  even  as  now  in  sleep, 
So  shall  we  lay  us  down  in  death,  ere  long, 
And  for  a  gloomier  season.     Kings  and  slaves 
Shall  then  repose  upon  the  selfsame  bed, 
That  bed  the  cold  clods  of  the  valley.     There, 
There  must  all  sleep,  seed  in  the  bosom  of  earth, 
To  shoot  as  weeds  or  flowers,  when  the  fair  spring 
Of  immortality  shall  dawn  ;  and  then 
Be  gathered  with  the  general  harvest  in, 
And  garnered  in  the  stores  of  heaven,  —  or  swept 


144  WEDNESDAY    MORNING. 

With  the  vile  chaff  away.     Eternal  God  ! 

Thou  who  art  wrapped  in  robes  of  majesty 

And  dazzling  light — the  Lord,  the  Judge  of  all ! 

To  Thee  we  would  commend  us  —  Hear  our  prayers, 

Do  all  Thy  will  on  earth  as  done  in  heaven, 

And  be  Thy  law,  our  law,  —  Thy  will,  our  will ! 

Thou  will'st  Thy  children's  happiness  ;  —  Thy  hand, 

Thy  guardian  hand,  hast  given  us  that  pure  joy 

Which  angels  share  —  that  silent  source  of  bliss, 

That  sweet  anticipation  of  Thyself, 

Flowing  from  a  pure  heart ;  —  Thy  will  be  done  ! 


WEDNESDAY    MORNING. 

All-seeing  God  !  before  whose  throne  sublime 
Lies  open  the  thick-crowded  book  of  time  ; 
Whose  eye,  when  glancing  o'er  the  varied  page, 
Reads  the  departed,  or  the  coming  age  ; 
Thou,  whose  resistless  energies  control 
The  aberrations  of  my  wandering  soul ; 
Whom,  in  the  midst  of  darkness  and  distress, 
I  see,  and  feel,  confide  in,  and  confess : 
Lord  !  if  one  thought  devout,  one  prayer  divine, 
Break  from  my  breast,  accept  it  —  for  'tis  Thine  ! 


WEDNESDAY    MORNING.  145 

Gcd  !  in  Thy  presence,  glory's  glittering  gleam 
And  pomp's  parade  are  desolate  and  dim. 
What  is  ambition's  gay  and  gairish  ray  ? 
Less  than  the  glowworm  in  the  eye  of  day. 
Before  Thee  folly  drops  its  darling  dress, 
And  stands  unveiled  in  its  own  nakedness. 
Proud  as  he  is  —  and,  towering,  though  he  can 
Erect  himself —  man  is  at  best  but  man  ; 
Though  high  his  destiny,  and  decked  in  state, 
Great  in  possession,  and  in  purpose  great ; 
Though  honor  gild  his  bright  escutcheon  o'er, 
And  heralds  oft  have  told  its  fame  before, 
What  boots  it  ?     Time,  whose  devastating  sway 
Sweeps  crowns  and  coronets,  sceptres,  swords,  away ; 
Time  will  not  spare  him,  —  wherefore  should  it  spare  ? 
Look  at  yon  gravestone  —  he  shall  slumber  there, 
Privileged  if,  when  he  rests  in  peace  below, 
One  flower  obscure  should  o'er  his  ashes  grow. 
Is  he  .lamented  ?     If  a  tear  should  wet 
One  faithful  eye,  to-morrow  'twill  forget 
Its  object ;  —  yet  another  day,  that  eye 
Shall  in  eternal  night  be  dark  and  dry. 

Gloomy  are  evening's  shadows  when  they  fall 
And  wrap  the  face  of  nature  with  their  pall ; 
But  these  are  brightness  to  sin's  moral  night ;  — 
13  j 


146  WEDNESDAY    MORNING. 

Dark  is  the  grave  ;  but  e'en  the  grave  is  light 
To  crime's  domain  of  terror.     Tempests  sweep 
The  swelling  billows  of  the  threatening  deep  ; 
The  storm  may  burst,  the  maddened  billows  roll, 
No  ocean  rages  like  a  tortured  soul. 

O,  holy  virtue  —  pure  and  fair  thou  art ! 
Thy  robes  are  light ;  thy  unpolluted  heart 
Is  spotless  as  the  falling  snow  ;  thy  face 
Beams  with  supernal  youth,  and  joy  and  grace. 

E'en  like  a  summer's  night  our  life  rolls  by, 
And  time  still  calls  us  to  eternity. 
Soon  life's  last  sand  shall  drop  —  another  scene 
Shall  in  its  awful  dawning  then  begin. 
Say,  art  thou  ready  ?     Has  the  grave's  dark  room 
For  thee  no  terrors  ?     Lo  !  its  darkest  gloom 
A  light  from  heaven  illumines  —  and  a  voice 
Speaks  from  the  clouds,  "  Awake  !  come  forth,  re- 
joice ! " 

All-seeing  God  !  in  lowliness  I  bow 
My  proud  heart  in  the  dust  before  Thee  now. 
Thou  giv'st  to  each  his  portion ;  and  to  each 
His  forward  way  to  heaven  and  Thee  dost  teach ; 
My  lot  is  in  Thy  hand  —  the  night,  the  day, 


WEDNESDAY    EVENING.  147 


The  moon's  pale  glimmering,  as  the  sunny  ray, 
Are  Thine  —  and  Thine  the  midnight  of  the  grave  : 
0,  be  Thou  there  to  strengthen  and  to  save ; 
To  light  death's  valley  with  Thy  beam  of  love, 
And  smile  a  welcome  to  Thy  throne  above. 


WEDNESDAY   EVENING. 

The  hour  of  peace  resumes  again 
Its  tranquil,  silent,  solemn  reign  ; 
Sorrow  a  short  cessation  knows 
On  the  soft  couch  of  calm  repose, 
And  all  is  still  —  the  Eternal  One 
Hath  risen  from  His  glorious  throne, 
And  on  the  midnight's  raven  pinions 
Surveys  His  infinite  dominions. 

And  who  but  Thou  the  world  could  keep, 
When  buried  thus  in  evening's  sleep  ? 
Who  bid  that  sleeping  world  awake, 
When  o'er  the  hills  the  daybeams  break  ? 
Who  call  those  daybeams  from  their  bed. 
When  nature  is  by  darkness  led  ? 
Thou,  Lord,  alone  !     Thy  mighty  hand 


148  WEDNESDAY    EVENING. 

Doth  all  create,  and  all  command  ; 
In  every  thing  that  hand  we  see, 
And  more  than  every  thing  in  Thee. 

But  who  can  count  the  countless  throng 
That  wakes  to  hear  the  morning's  song  ; 
Or  tell  the  infinite  train  that  rest, 
O'erwatched  by  Thee,  on  evening's  breast  ; 
All  from  Thy  presence  joy  receiving, 
All  on  Thy  generous  bounty  living  ? 
And  we,  the  lowliest  and  the  least, 
With  Heaven's  peculiar  favor  blest ! 

Did  earth  upon  our  care  depend, 
Decay  would  soon  with  misery  blend ; 
Were  we  the  counsellors  of  Heaven, 
All,  all  would  be  to  ruin  driven. 
We,  helpless  as  the  ephemeral  fly, 
And  sightless  as  the  adder's  eye. 

But  Thou  in  wisdom's  chains  hast  bound 
The  mighty  universe  around  ; 
And  mountain's  height,  and  vale's  recess, 
Speak  Thy  unwearied  watchfulness  ; 
And  every  sun  that  splendor  gives, 
And  every  orb  that  light  receives, 


WEDNESDAY   EVENING.  149 

And  solemn  night,  and  joyous  day, 
And  mountain  stream  and  forest  lay, 
And  waves  and  waterfalls  and  showers, 
And  trees  and  shrubs  and  fruits  and  flowers, 
And  all  that  nature's  face  reveals, 
And  all  that  nature's  womb  conceals, 
Space,  earth,  heaven,  time,  eternity, 
Are  all  upheld,  great  God  !  by  Thee. 

Ours  is  a  hurried  pilgrimage, 
Youth  beckons  to  the  steps  of  age, 
And  youth  and  age  too  swiftly  meet. 
The  angel  of  the  tomb  to  greet ; 
And  soon  the  rays  cf  life  are  gone, 
And  soon  the  time-enduring  sun, 
Which  shines  so  brightly  o'er  our  head, 
Shall  shine  upon  our  funeral  bed. 

Enough  —  if,  while  we  journey  here, 
Some  visions  from  that  holier  sphere, 
Where  the  great  Spirit  sits,  arrayed 
In  splendor,  light  this  vale  of  shade. 
Enough  —  if,  in  this  vale  of  tears, 
Some  heavenly  strains  should  reach  our  ears, 
Remotely  echoed  from  the  hymn 
)f  cherubim  and  seraphim. 
13* 


150  THURSDAY    MORNING. 

Enough  —  if,  in  these  earthly  bowers, 
Some  leaves  of  those  immortal  flowers 
Which  bloom  in  living  fragrance  sweet, 
Should  grow  spontaneous  at  our  feet. 

Yes  !  such  Thy  servants,  Lord  !  have  known, 
Such  effluence  from  Thy  burning  throne  : 
And  such  be  mine  —  and  when  at  last 
Life's  summer  evening  shall  be  past, 
The  shades  of  night  shall  curtain  me, 
And  I  shall  slumber,  watched  by  Thee  ! 


THURSDAY   MORNING. 

Thou  best  of  Beings  !  now  the  night  is  fled, 

And  day  awakes  in  all  its  bliss  again ; 

Man,  rising  from  his  Heaven-protected  bed, 

Is  launched  on  duty's  ever-flowing  main. 

Thou  art  the  Lord !  alike  the  day,  the  night, 

Thy  love  proclaim  —  for  each  Thy  love  pervades ; 

Thou  smilest  in  the  Aurora's  purple  light, 

And  w/app'st  Thyself  in  evening's  solemn  shades. 

God  !  Thou  art  Love  !  repeats  the  youthful  spring ; 

God  !  Thou  art  Love  !  the  summer  days  proclaim  ; 


THURSDAY    MORNING.  151 

God  !  Thou  art  Love  !  the  autumnal  valleys  sing, 
And  hoaiy  winter  echoes  back  the  name. 
Thou  rock'st  the  cradle  of  sweet  infancy, 
Lead'st  active  youth  through  its  fair  path  of  flowers, 
And  manhood  owes  its  golden  fruit  to  Thee  ; 
To  Thee  old  age  its  calm  and  lovely  hours. 
Thou  deck'st  all  nature  with  its  swan-like  robe, 
Coverest  the  snow  with  million  diamonds'  gleam, 
Bid'st  icy  pyramids  tower  above  the  globe, 
And  build'st  Thy  crystal  bridges  o'er  the  stream. 
How  infinite  Thy  works  !  the  great,  the  small, 
Rich  with  Thy  bounty,  teeming  with  Thy  love, 
All  fraught  with  pure  intelligence,  and  all 
Tending  to  perfect  bliss,  —  where  Thou  above 
Shalt  justify  Thy  purpose.     We  below, 
The  moral  subjects  of  vicissitude. 
Would  to  Thy  holy  dispensations  bow, 
Secure  that  all  must  end  in  boundless  good. 
How  mild,  how  wise,  how  beautiful  Thy  reign ' 
Thy  sun  —  an  image  of  Thyself —  O  Lord  ! 
Shines  e'en  upon  the  unthankful ;  and  Thy  rain 
^s  on  the  unrighteous,  as  the  holy,  poured. 
Existence  hangs  upon  Thy  fostering  cares, 
And  even  the  worst  partake  those  cares  divine ; 
Ingratitude  itself  Thy  favor  shares  — 


152  THURSDAY    MORNING. 

Ingratitude  !  —  'midst  favors  such  as  Thine  ! 
Ingratitude  to  Him,  whose  bounty  gave 
Life,  and  the  joys  of  life  ;  who  leads  us  on 
With  gentle  guidance  even  to  the  grave  ! 
But  who,  alas  !  is  not  ungrateful  ?     None. 
His  love  protects  us,  leads  us,  lights  us,  cheers  ; 
Gives  to  our  morning  brightness,  beauty,  bliss ; 
Conducts  us  gently  to  the  eve  of  years, 
Crowns  us  with  hope  and  peace  and  happiness. 
My  God  !  my  Father  !  —  on  Thee  will  I  rest  — 
Rest  with  unbounded  confidence  on  Thee  ; 
No  slavish  fears  shall  now  inthrall  my  breast ; 
I  stand  erect  in  holiest  liberty. 
Thou  dwell'st  in  light  unsearchable  —  and  here 
Thy  children  in  a  night  of  darkness  roam  ; 
But  earth  shall  not  detain  the  wanderer  ; 
Heaven  is  his  destiny,  and  heaven  his  home. 
There  peace  and  love,  in  holiest  union  bound, 
Shall  gild  with  everlasting  smiles  the  scene, 
And  God's  pure  presence,  scattering  light  around. 
Fill  every  heart  with  joy  and  bliss  serene. 


THURSDAY   EVENING,  153 


THURSDAY    EVENiNG. 

The  day  is  done  ;  the  night  comes  calmly  forth, 

Bringing  sweet  rest  upon  the  wings  of  even  ; 

The  golden  wain  rolls  round  the  silent  north, 

And  earth  is  slumbering  'neath  the  smiles  of  heaven. 

Like  yon  celestial  torches,  let  me  press 

Forward  —  and  heavenward  —  on  my  destined  way  ; 

Clad,  like  the  stars,  in  robes  of  holiness  ; 

Bright,  like  the  stars,  with  joy's  enrapturing  ray. 

Calm  evening !  whose  mild  presence  can  restore 

The  peace  ne'er  found  amidst  the  world's  rude  cares, 

Can  bid  the  weeping  eyelids  weep  no  more, 

And  chase  all  misery  —  all,  except  despair's  ! 

When  round  the  world  we  look,  how  many  a  grief 
Invites  the  soul  to  sober  thought,  and  checks 
The  gush  of  daring  pride  ;  pangs  that  relief 
Approaches  not,  —  and  melancholy  wrecks 
Of  once  fair  flattering  happiness,  now  scattered 
On    life's    tempestuous   shores !      What    prospects 

blighted  ! 
What  piles  of  fond  anticipation  shattered, 
And  gaudy  dreams  in  which  the  soul  delighted  ! 
These  all  may  serve  to  loosen  the  dull  fetter 


154  THURSDAY    EVENING. 

Which  binds  us  to  this  world  —  and  bid  us  look 
Beyond  it  to  a  brighter  and  a  better  ; 
And  read  the  page  of  that  imposing  book, 
Where  are  the  records  of  all  ages  past 
And  present,  and  all  ages  yet  to  come  ; 
Existence'  infant  moments,  and  its  last, 
From  the  earth's  first  awaking,  to  its  tomb. 

Life's  scenes  are  rich  in  eloquence,  and  truth, 

And  wisdom  !  —  and  their  flowerets  sweetly  grow 

In  the  dark  valley  of  affliction's  ruth, 

As  in  joy's  gay  and  summer  sunshine  glow. 

Be  it  our  lot  to  pluck  them,  and  to  twine 

Their  separate  beauties  in  one  moral  wreath, 

To  decorate  life's  ever-crumbling  shrine, 

To  hang  upon  the  canopy  of  death. 

The  steady  stream  of  virtue  flows  serenely, 

Till  in  eternity's  vast  ocean  lost ; 

Though  the  rude  winds  of  chilling  time  blow  keenly, 

And  bind  its  surface  in  the  fettering  frost ; 

Still  it  flows  calmly  on  —  and  still  shall  flow, 

And  fertilize  the  earth  ;  —  and  can  it  ever 

Sleep  in  its  energetic  progress  ?     No  ! 

Its  course  shall  never  be  impeded  —  never  ! 

Day  after  day,  the  light  of  heaven  appears  ; 
Night  after  night,  dark  curtains  wrap  the  skies  ; 


FRIDAY    MORNING.  155 

And  man  sinks  downward  in  the  vale  of  years, 

Buds,  blossoms,  bears  his  fruit,  decays  and  dies : 

He  fills  the  spot  his  fathers  filled  of  old  ; 

Their  ashes  now  mix  with  the  cheerless  clay  — 

And  he  soon,  slumbering  on  earth's  bosom  cold, 

Shall  lie  as  low,  and  sleep  as  sound  as  they. 

And  other  generations  rise  and  fall, 

Till  the  all-embracing  plan  shall  be  complete, 

Christ  owned  the  Savior  and  the  Judge  of  all, 

The  power  of  evil  vanquished  at  his  feet, 

And  death  extinct  forever  !  —  O,  to  share 

His  triumphs,  —  and  from  his  benignant  voice 

The  approving  "  Welcome  to  thy  home  ! "  to  hear  — 

Were   all   of    earthly   hopes   and    all    of    heavenly 

Joys- 


FRIDAY   MORNING. 

Like  a  priestess  from  her  temple's  shade, 
In  her  holiest  robes  of  light  arrayed, 
The  morn  walks  forth  ;  —  day's  glorious  star 
Towers  o'er  the  misty  mountains  far  ; 
The  heavens  are  bright  with  celestial  blue, 
The  earth  is  sprinkled  o'er  with  dew, 


15.6  FRIDAY    MORNING. 

And  all  is  bright,  and  gay,  and  fair ; 
The  spirit  of  joy  and  love  is  there  — 
Fit  temple  for  that  Glorious  One, 
Who  formed  the  earth  and  woke  the  sun. 

If  any  soul  of  harmony 
Is  wakened  in  humanity, 
Thine  is  the  music,  Father !  Thine 
The  morning  minstrel's  song  divine. 
Thou  first  did  string  devotion's  lyre  ; 
Thine  is  the  daylight's  holy  fire, 
Thine  is  the  evening's  twilight  ray, 
And  Thine  the  veil  that  shades  the  day. 
Above  yon  arch  sublime  of  heaven, 
Is  Thine  eternal  chariot  driven  ; 
Above  the  visible  stars  Thou  reignest, 
Yet  sometimes  in  Thy  mercy  deignest 
To  bless  the  world  with  beams  of  light, 
Reflected  from  Thy  presence  bright. 

Bow  Thee  down  to  this  lowliest  sphere, 

Thou,  whose  wisdom  never  can  err : 

Thou,  whose  power  no  limit  boundeth  ; 

Thou,  whose  love  all  space  surroundeth  ! 

If  Thou  wilt  speak,  there  are  thunders  near  Thee  ; 

Millions  of  ministering  spirits  hear  Thee, 


FRIDAY   MORNING.  157 

Ever  on  the  wing  to  obey  ;  — 

Eternal  splendor  lights  Thy  way, 

Thy  footsteps  imprint  the  morning  hills, 

Thy  voice  is  heard  in  the  music  of  rills, 

In  the  song  of  birds,  and  the  heavenly  chorus 

That  nature  utters  around  us,  o'er  us. 

Dead  is  the  sense,  and  dull  the  ear, 

That  cannot  perceive  Thee  every  where  ; 

Eveiy  where  —  and  in  every  thing  ; 

The  motion  in  the  insect's  wing, 

As  the  unmeasured  comet's  march, 

Rolling  sublime  in  yon  boundless  arch  ; 

Beautiful  in  a  drop  of  dew 

As  in  the  rainbow's  glorious  hue  ; 

In  the  light  zephyrs  audible 

As  in  the  storm  wave's  loudest  swell  ; 

In  every  thing  Thy  glory  beameth  — 

From  every  thing  Thy  witness  streameth  ; 

Silence  itself  hath  a  voice  for  Thee, 

In  the  thick  darkness  Thy  light  we  see  ; 

Even  the  cold  grave,  dreary  and  damp, 

Is  illumed  by  Thine  eternal  lamp. 

Calmly  on  !  the  grave's  dormitory 
Hath  its  sweet  visions  of  hope  and  glory ; 
14 


158  FRIDAY    EVENING. 

Heaven  shall  cheer  its  stillness  deep, 
Heaven  shall  watch  its  holy  sleep  ; 
O'er  it  a  brighter  sun  shall  rise 
Than  ever  lighted  the  visible  skies. 


FRIDAY    EVENING. 

True  !  Spring  renews  the  faded  year  ; 

And  renovated  fruits  and  flowers 

In  reawakened  charms  appear  :  — 

They  deck  the  plain  —  they  crown  the  bowers  ■ 

Their  blush  was  past  —  their  odor  fled  — 

They  only  slept  —  they  were  not  dead 

They  were  not  dead  —  for  though  the  breath 
Of  winter  o'er  their  beauties  swept, 
They  were  not  visited  by  death ; 
They  only  bowed  their  heads  and  slept. 
For  let  them  die  —  their  charms  again 
Shall  decorate  nor  bower  nor  plain. 

True  !  visions  haunt  the  general  breast 
Of  man  —  of  worlds  beyond  the  skies  ; 


FRIDAY    EVENING.  159 

But  that  may  be  a  dream  at  best, 
Like  other  dreams  and  vanities  ; 
For  man  is  but  a  breath,  betrayed 
By  every  sense,  by  every  shade. 

Around  him,  o'er  him,  he  creates 
A  thousand  fancies  to  delude, 
Which  time,  truth-trier,  dissipates  ; 
Bright  though  they  be,  and  fair  and  good, 
They  are  but  dreams  at  last  —  that  leave 
Our  disappointed  hopes  to  grieve. 

True  !  power  and  pride  and  insolent  thought, 

Our  trust  in  Heaven  severely  try  ; 

The  wicked  rule  the  world  —  and  nought 

Is  left  to  virtue  but  —  to  die  ; 

And  sure,  if  Gcd  be  strong  and  just, 

It  shall  not  perish  in  the  dust. 

Vain  hope  !     In  virtue's  path  who  treads, 
Treads  surely,  —  all  we  feel  and  see 
Is  a  triumphant  march  that  leads 
Truth,  knowledge  to  its  victory  ; 
'Tis  sorrow's  sternest  discipline 
That  makes  our  mortal  man  divine. 


160  FRIDAY    EVENING. 

There  is  no  pain  but  is  the  seed 
Of  pleasure  ;  —  wretchedness  and  woe 
Are  steps  to  virtue.     Oft  the  weed 
Shelters  the  tender  flowers  that  grow 
Beneath  its  shield.     Each  day  —  each  hour 
Give  power  to  truth  —  to  virtue  power. 

Such  are  the  thoughts  and  such  the  fears 
Of  pilgrims,  in  that  gloomy  way 
Where  Heaven  no  glorious  pillar  rears 
Of  fire  by  night  —  of  clouds  by  day  ; 
Such  as  the  sons  of  Israel  led; 
When  wandering  through  the  desert  dread. 

Yet  happier  —  O,  how  happier  !  —  he., 
Who  from  the  waste  of  grief  and  care 
Retreats  to  immortality, 
And  builds  his  tabernacle  there,  — 
And  smiles,  as  from  a  splendid  star, 
On  dews  and  mists  beneath  him  far  ! 

Yes  !  happier  who  from  earthly  woe 
Turns  his  fixed  vision  to  the  skies, 
And  knows  and  feels  that  Jesus  rose, 
And  is  assured  that  he  shall  rise  ; 


SATURDAY    MORNING.  161 


With  faith  as  steadfast  and  sublime 
As  ever  vanquished  doubt  or  time. 

All  else  is  vain  —  the  days  to  come 
Are  shrouded  in  obscurity  : 
But  Jesus  burst  his  mortal  tomb  — 
And  I  shall  not  death's  prisoner  be. 
There's  bliss  enough  in  this  to  cheer 
All  the  dim  woes  that  vex  us  here. 

Yes !  Jesus  rose  —  and  while  the  wreck 
Of  nature  leaves  that  thought  to  bless, 
The  sigh  of  bursting  grief  I'll  check, 
And  still  the  tumult  of  distress  :  — 
For  Jesus  rose  —  and  I  shall  rise, 
Though  this  poor  crumbling  body  dies. 


SATURDAY    MORNING. 

Another  portion  of  life  rolls  on, 
The  week  glides  calmly  by  ; 

And  down  the  swift  stream  of  time  we  rur, 
To  the  sea  of  eternity. 

14*  k 


162  SATURDAY    MORNING. 

Who  knows  how  soon  the  hour  will  come 
When  the  sun  shall  put  out  his  light, 

And  the  Master  shall  call  His  laborers  home, 
To  sleep  in  the  valleys  of  night  ? 

And  then  shall  He  take  a  strict  account 

Of  duties  neglected  and  done, 
And  millions  shall  read  their  vast  amount 

Recorded  one  by  one. 
And  every  bosom  shall  be  unveiled, 

And  every  secret  known  ; 
And  none  another's  sins  shall  shield, 

And  none  shall  hide  his  own  ! 

We  live  in  this  narrow  world  below, 

The  victims  of  self-deceit ; 
But  in  the  bright  world  to  which  we  go, 

No  artifice  can  cheat. 
Folly  can  there  no  more  assume 

Wisdom's  imposing  dress  ; 
Nor  hypocrisy  wear  the  towering  plume 

Of  conscious  righteousness. 

Each  his  burden  of  sin  must  bear, 
At  the  high  tribunal  above, 


SATURDAY    MORNING.  163 

For  nothing  will  then  avail  us  there 

But  deeds  of  mercy  and  love  ; 
To  have  trained  our  spirits  to  forgive, 

As  we  hope  to  be  forgiven, 
And  have  lived  on  earth  as  they  should  live, 

Whose  hopes  and  home  are  heaven. 

We  are  weak  and  vain,  but  God  is  strong  ; 

We  are  blind,  but  His  piercing  eye, 
To  whose  orbit  all  space  and  time  belong, 

Embraces  infinity. 
We  wander  —  His  spirit  leads  us  back 

To  the  heavenward  path  of  peace, 
And  His  glory  lights  the  holy  track 

That  ends  in  eternal  bliss. 

He  smiles  on  all  —  and  though  drear  and  dark 

Our  journey  may  seem  to  be  — 
A  joyous,  a  bright,  though  lonely  spark, 

Shines  from  eternity. 
As  beneath  the  curtains  of  silver  snow 

The  flowers  of  the  valley  are  hid, 
So  the  flowers  of  hope  and  beauty  grow 

'Neath  the  grave's  pyramid. 

Even  in  the  shadiest,  darkest  night 
The  stars  shine  on  unseen  ; 


164  SATURDAY    EVENING. 

And  the  sun  is  clad  in  his  robes  of  light, 

Though  mists  intrude  between. 
And  the  grave,  though  dreary  and  dull  and  deep, 

Is  bright  with  a  heaven-born  ray, 
And  its  long  and  seemingly  listless  sleep 

Shall  be  crowned  with  eternal  day. 


SATURDAY  EVENING. 

(Translation.) 

Lord  !  to  whose  being  ages  are  but  moments, 
Fugitive  moments  !  Thou,  Eternal  Father  ! 
Listen  in  mercy  —  for  life's  passing  shadows 
Soon  will  be  scattered. 

'Tis  Thy  bright  presence  makes  all  nature  pregnant, 
Pregnant  with  beauty  —  'tis  Thy  sacred  presence 
Fills  all  creation.  —  I  am  but  an  atom  — 
Deign,  Lord  !  to  hear  me. 

Glorious  and  mighty  !  Thy  right  hand  of  greatness 
Upholds  existence.  —  What  is  man  before  Thee  ? 


SATURDAY    EVENING.  165 

Vanity,  ashes  —  indigence  and  folly  : 
Smile,  then,  benignly  ! 

Fountain  of  wisdom  !  Spirit  of  creation  ! 
Life-source  of  blessing  !  —  hear  the  humble  praises 
Of  Thy  poor  pilgrim,  whose  short  day  of  sadness 
Soon  will  be  over  ! 

Thy  searching  spirit  sees  departed  ages, 
Ages  in  embryo  —  ages  veiled  in  darkness, 
Present  and  future  —  all  alike  unravelled  :  — 
T  am  but  blindness. 

Highly  exalted  on  Thy  throne  of  glory, 
Being  unchanging  !  do  Thou  help  my  weakness 
From  the  o'erflowings  of  Thy  strength,  O  Father ! 
Help  Thou  my  weakness. 

'Tis  Thy  proud  arm  that  yon  abyss  divideth, 
Blots  out  the  planets,  gives  the  stars  their  splendor, 
Rules  o'er  infinity,  uncontrolled  and  mighty  ;  — 
I  am  as  nothing. 

E'en  the  plumed  songster,  wandering  through  crea- 
tion ; 
E'en  the  poor  insect,  living  in  the  sunbeam ; 


166  SATURDAY   EVENING. 

E'en  the  scorned  earthworm,  at  our  feet  extended, 
All  share  Thy  mercy. 

Deign,  then,  to  hear  me,  Father !  deign  to  bless  me  ! 
Nothing  too  lowly  for  Thy  smiles  benignant ; 
Nothing  too  trifling  for  Thy  care,  Thy  kindness  — 
I,  too,  may  share  them. 

Infinite  Being  —  Living  One  !  Eternal ! 
Wise  and  unchanging  —  Father,  Holy  Father  ! 
Look  from  Thy  throne  of  brightness  and  of  glory 
On  this  Thy  suppliant ! 


NIGHT.  167 

HYMNS 

AND    OTHER 

DEVOTIONAL    PIECES. 
NIGHT. 

(From  the  German  of  Herder.) 

Dost  thou  come  again,  calm,  holy  mother 

Of  bright  stars  and  heavenly  aspirations  ; 

Dost  thou  visit  us  again  ?     Awaiting 

Thy  mild  presence,  Earth  and  all  her  flowerets 

Bending  down  their  feeble  heads,  and  thirsting 

For  a  dewdrop,  pant.     My  sinking  spirit, 

Overflowing  with  a  thousand  visions, 

Waits  the  still  and  sacred  visitation 

Of  thy  gentle  influence  :  —  Come,  inspire  me 

With  the  thoughts  of  happier  worlds,  and  brighter ; 

And  with  peace  my  weary  bosom  quicken. 

Star-surrounded,  gold-encircled"  goddess ! 
Thou,  upon  whose  dark  and  ample  mantle 
Thousand  worlds  are  shining,  —  thou  who  bearest, 
Gently  bearest  all  —  their  restless  being  — 


168  NIGHT. 

Fiery  courses  —  ever-busy  orbits  — 
In  the  strength  of  everlasting  quiet. 

What  a  song  of  triumph  is  repeated 

Through  all  worlds  to  Thee,  the  living  Leader 

Of  the  starry  choirs !  —  a  song  of  glory 

Even  to  Him  who  stills  the  storm  —  whom  language 

Whom  the  spirit's  utterance  —  whom  all  voices 

Praise,  —  and  sink  in  silence  at  His  presence. 

Holy  silence !  —  o'er  the  world  now  brooding,  — 

Gentle  stream,  that  to  the  eternal  borders 

Of  unmeasured  being  rolls  sublimely  ; 

And  thou,  noble  song  of  stars  and  planets, 

Light  of  light — the  peaceful  speech  of  heaven  ! 

Night  environs  and  pervades  my  spirit  — 

Seas  of  vast  infinity  surround  me  — 

Fill  my  soul  —  heaven  of  all  heavens  —  an  ocean 

Calm  and  silent,  full  of  glowing  beauties 

As  heaven's  arch  is  full  of  fiery  sparkles. 

Mighty  Night !  I  bow  before  thine  altar ! 

Every  spark  of  this  all-filling  ether 

Is  a  frontlet  round  thy  holy  temple, 

Bright  with  heavenly  writing.     Who  can  read  it  f 

Flames  of  fire  written  by  the  Uncreated, 


NIGHT.  169 

On  the  night's  tall  brow.     It  says  :  Jehovah 

He  is  One  —  His  name  is  Everlasting  — - 

And  His  child  is  Night ;  —  His  higher  title 

Mystery  —  whose  dark  and  shadowy  mantle 

None  may  dare  uplift !  —  it  hath  created 

Worlds  and  space  and  time.     Its  privileged  children, 

Ever  in  the  path  of  law  and  order, 

Love  and  mighty  destiny  —  hasten  onward, 

Ever  hasten  towards  the  living  Father. 

Drop  the  curtain,  then,  thou  holy  mother ! 
Shut  the  book  that's  full  of  heavenly  writing ; 
I  can  read  no  more  —  can  soar  no  higher  ;  — 
Thought  is  all  exhausted.     Rather  grant  me 
Thy  sweet  peace,  and  gently  pour  upon  me. 
Mother  of  soft  sleep  and  nightly  visions ! 
Pour  upon  me  dewdrops  of  oblivion 
And  forgetfulness  of  earthly  sorrow. 

Feel  I  not  how  Thy  kind  slumber  fetters 
Wrap  me  all  around  ?  —  thy  hand  maternal 
Shuts  with  tenderest  care  my  falling  eyelids  ? 
Spirits  of  the  night  now  glide  before  me  — 
Stately  forms  —  tall  and  majestic  shadows 
From  far  worlds  —  a  mildened  light  surrounds  me  ; 
Light  ne'er  seen  by  mine  awakened  vision. 
15 


170  NIGHT. 

What  a  moon  !  what  stars  of  dazzling  brightness  ! 
Do  I  soar  —  swim  —  dream  ?  or  am  I  sinking 
Down  from  th'  Uncreated's  throne  ?  —  for  angels, 
Angels  are  around  me  —  lost  companions 
Of  my  childhood  —  friends  long  since  departed, 
Guardian  spirits  —  some  unknown  — -  they  offer 
The  warm  hand  of  fellowship  —  all  glowing  — 
And  I  join  their  everlasting  music. 

Slumber  still,  thou  dull  and  drowsy  burden 

Of  my  earthly  "way  !     Night  spreads  her  mantle, 

Night — and  all  her  lamps  that  burn  so  brightly, 

Brightly  burn  in  yonder  hallowed  circle. 

Visitants  of  heaven  sink  —  rise  before  me  ; 

Dwellers  of  the  stars —  and  heaven's  bright  portals, 

In  my  nightly  dreams  to  me  are  open. 

Every  angel,  every  blessed  spirit, 

All  heaven's  concert  —  all  are  smiling  on  me  ! 

Moons  and  suns  —  up  to  what  sun  ascending  ! 

What's  the  centre  of  these  endless  circles, 

All-creating  —  all-inspiring  Spirit  ? 

Veiled  from  this  my  wandering  star  —  but  haply 

Seen  by  yon  far  sun's  more  privileged  dwellers. 

See  !  with  what  a  sympathizing  spirit 

All  those  stars  are  smiling  !     Do  ye  see  me, 


NIGHT. 


171 


Me,  the  dust  of  dust  —  who  dare  to  hail  ye, 
Hail  ye  as  my  friends  —  the  loved  companions 
Of  my  sweetest,  dearest,  highest  pleasures  ; 
Gentlest  witnesses  of  peace  and  virtue  ? 

Heaven's  young  offspring — joy-inspiring  children 
Of  enkindled  night —  and  thou,  fair  sister 
Of  my  hope,  my  joy,  and  my  devotion, 
Long  ye  smiled,  and  long  ye  shone  rejoicing, 
Clad  in  all  your  bright  and  festal  garments, 
Ere  I  was  —  and  ere  the  earth  had  being ! 
And  when  I  shall  be  not  —  when  oblivion 
Sweeps  away  that  earth  —  and  in  the  music 
Of  your  hymns  her  voice  shall  speak  no  longer : 
When  her  dull  and  distant  tones  shall  perish, 
And  the  sighs  which  from  her  poles  are  breaking, 
In  the  song  of  light  shall  be  extinguished  — 
Shall  I  then,  fair  spirits,  dwell  among  ye  ? 
Is  there  in  your  amaranthine  foliage 
Even  for  me  a  wreath  of  love  and  glory  ? 
That  my  voice  in  your  soft  choir  may  mingle ; 
While  I  look  upon  this  lowly  dwelling, 
To  some  son  of  earth  a  ray  of  brightness, 
Or  a  hopestar  to  some  child  of  sorrow  ? 


172  MORNING    THOUGHTS. 


MORNING  THOUGHTS. 

Come,  let  us  leave  the  vain,  the  proud, 
The  ambitious,  and  the  worldly  wise ; 
Pomp's  revels,  turbulent  and  loud, 
And  pleasure's  tempting  vanities  ; 

And  let  us  mount  the  mantled  hill, 
Or  wander  in  the  waving  wood  ; 
Or  trace  the  melancholy  rill 
Through  its  own  haunts  of  solitude  ; 

Or  seek  the  little  tufts  of  flowers, 
Hid  'neath  the  turf  from  sultry  beams  : 
Nor  waste  life's  swift  and  smiling  hours 
In  senseless  joys  or  idle  dreams. 

Or  let  us  tread  the  ocean  shore  ; 
And,  while  its  surges  rise  and  roll, 
Their  voice  sublime,  their  blended  roar 
Shall  fall  like  music  on  the  soul. 

Or  watch  the  busy  clouds  that  sail 
Along  the  heavens  like  living  things  ; 
Soar  on  the  spirit-rousing  gale  — 
Or  take  the  gentler  zephyr's  wings. 


MORNING    THOUGHTS.  173 

And  then  oar  hallowed  talk  shall  ht 
Of  Him  who  reared  the  mountains  high, 
Poured  out  the  waters  of  the  sea, 
Painted  the  flowers,  and  arched  the  sky. 

'Tis  in  the  silence,  in  the  shade, 
That  light  from  heaven  illumes  our  road  ; 
And  man,  even  mortal  man,  is  made, 
If  not  a  god  —  almost  a  god. 

'Tis  then  he  feels  and  hears  and  sees 
Thoughts,  hopes  and  joys  to  angels  given  ; 
Those  chains  of  towering  sympathies 
Which  link  the  earthly  soul  to  heaven. 

Beyond  or  moon,  or  sun,  or  star, 
The  enfranchised  spirit  soars  —  the  ray 
Of  morning  is  its  glorious  car, 
And  comets  light  it  on  its  way. 

It  travels  o'er  the  vast  abyss 
Of  space  and  time,  and  joys  to  see 
The  pregnant  future  bright  with  bliss, 
And  love,  and  joy,  and  liberty. 

Then  bending  down  to  earth  again, 
Full  of  glad  hope,  —  'tis  trained  to  bear 
15* 


174  MORNING    THOUGHTS. 

The  lightened  weight  of  mortal  pain  ; 
The  passing  storm  of  earthly  care. 

And  every  stream  more  gently  flows, 
And  even-  flower  more  freshly  smells, 
And  every  breeze  more  gayly  blows, 
And  every  note  more  sweetly  swells. 

The  light  that  shines  within,  is  shed 
O'er  all  above,  around,  below  ; 
The  stars  are  brighter  o'er  our  head, 
And  brighter  is  the  sunny  glow. 

E'en  darkness  has  a  cheering  smile, 
And  twilight  kindles  into  day  ; 
And  the  heart  rests  untroubled  —  while 
Visions  of  Eden  round  it  play. 

And,  journeying  onwards,  peace  and  hope 
And  holy  memory  gild  the  gloom, 
While  man  descends  the  gentle  slope 
Which  brings  him  to  the  quiet  tomb. 

There  shall  he  rest ;  — till,  ages  gone,  — 
When,  summoned  to  a  higher  sphere, 
He  shall  enjoy  that  blissful  sun 
Whose  distant  rays  consoled  him  here. 


EVENING  THOUGHTS  ON  DEATH.        175 

EVENING  THOUGHTS  ON  DEATH. 

The  good  man  dies  —  it  grieves  us : 
Why  should  the  good  man  die  ? 
He  dies  —  but,  dying,  leaves  us 
A  lasting  legacy. 
And  this  becomes  our  comforter ; 
And  sweeter  is  the  thought 
Of  him  who  is  departed, 
Than  all  that  death  has  left : 
No  longer,  broken  hearted, 
Deem  that  thou  art  bereft ; 
For,  O,  the  good  man's  memory 
Is  sweeter  far  than  aught. 

No  sorrows  now  disturb  him, 
No  disappointment  there ; 
No  worldly  pride  to  curb  him 
In  his  sublime  career : 
Heaven's  azure  arch  is  over  him, 
Earth's  tranquil  breast  beneath  ; 
The  stars  are  brightly  glowing, 
The  breezes  play  around, 
The  flowers  are  sweetly  blowing, 
The  dew  is  on  the  ground, 


176  EVENING    THOUGHTS    ON    DEATH. 

And  emerald  mosses  cover  him  — 
How  beautiful  is  death  ! 

His  life  —  a  summer's  even, 

"Whose  sun  of  life,  though  set 

Amidst  the  clouds  of  heaven, 

Leaves  streams  of  brightness  yet ; 

And  thus  he  sinks  victoriously 

Into  his  ocean  throne  : 

Then  darkness  gathers  round  him  — 

'Tis  but  a  night :  —  again 

He  bursts  the  chains  that  bound  him, 

He  rises  from  the  main, 

And  marches  heavenward  gloriously 

In  splendors  of  his  own. 

• 

Yon  gems  so  sweetly  sparkling 
On  heavens  cerulean  deep, 
What  time  the  twilight  darkling 
Bring's  nature's  hours  of  sleep, 
Are  perhaps  the  bright  receptacles 
Of  disembodied  souls : 
Of  souls  that,  long  desiring 
Some  more  than  mortal  joy, 
Burst  in  their  proud  aspiring, 
And  fix  themselves  on  high  ; 


EVENING    THOUGHTS    ON*DEATH.  177 

And  on  this  earth  look  tenderly. 
That  low  beneath  them  rolls. 

Yes  !  in  those  orbs  of  glory 
Methinks  I  see  the  ray 
Which  wisdom's  sages  hoary 
Have  scattered  o'er  my  way, 
With  brighter  wisdom  perfected, 
All  strength  —  all  purity. 
In  yonder  gentle  starlight 
I  see  the  holy  tear, 
Glistening  in  fair  though  far  light. 
Which  once  consoled  me  here  — 
Till  I  was  left  in  wretchedness, 
And  none  to  weep  with  me. 

Roll  on,  fair  worlds  !  and  over 
Earth's  vale  your  torches  blend  : 
In  each  my  thoughts  discover 
§miles  of  some  cherished  friend, 
Whose  melancholy  pilgrimage 
Wearies  the  heart  no  more. 
O,  yes  !  I  hear  their  voices, 
O,  yes  !  their  forms  I  see  ; 
And  then  my  soul  rejoices, 
And,  raptured,  seems  to  be 

L 


178  EVENING    THOUGHTS    ON    DEATH. 

Their  momentary  visitant ; 
But  soon  the  dream  is  o'er. 

I'll  build  a  fane  elysian 
Among  those  towers  divine, 
And  there  in  hallowed  vision, 
When  gloomy  thoughts  are  mine, 
Will  soar  in  glowing  ecstasy  — 
There  shall  my  joys  be  stored  ; 
And  there  my  soul,  reposing 
On  contemplation's  breast, 
When  earthly  scenes  are  closing, 
Shall  find  a  place  of  rest, 
And  leave  this  lowly  solitude 
Forgotten  —  undeplored. 


WRITTEN    AT    SEA.  179 


WRITTEN   AT   SEA. 


When  the  bark  by  a  gentle  breath  is  driven, 

And  the  bright  sun  dances  in  the  heaven 

Up  and  down,  as  the  rocking  boat 

Upon  the  ridgy  waves  doth  float  — 

And  the  fresh  sea  sprinkles  the  sloping  deck, 

And  nought  is  seen  but  some  snowy  speck 

On  the  distant  verge  —  and  the  sky  above, 

And  the  waters  around  —  'tis  sweet  to  move 

Gladly  from  one  to  another  strand, 

Guided  by  some  invisible  hand. 

Gladly,  ay  !  for  him  who  leaves 

No  friend  behind,  who  dreams,  and  grieves, 

And  dreads  that  every  breezy  breath 

Is  the  winged  charioteer  of  death. 

Ah  !  that  love  is  a  fearful  thing  : 

It  hovers  round  on  a  vampire's  wing , 

Darkness  is  its  abode  —  it  dwells 

In  caverns  and  spectre-peopled  cells  ; 

'Tis  wont  to  play  with  phantoms  dread, 

And  wreathes  the  aconite  round  its  head  ; 

The  desert  and  the  grove  it  seeks, 


180  WRITTEN    AT    SEA. 

And  clouds  are  on  its  splendent  cheeks ; 
And  it  sits  in  storms,  —  and  builds  its  throne 
In  terror's  dark  pavilion  ; 
And  its  bright  and  spirit-piercing  eyes 
Are  shrouded  in  thick  anxieties, 

Onwards  !  onwards  !  —  lo,  we  sweep 
The  heaving  bosom  of  the  deep, — 
Freshens  the  wind  !  —  how  gay  to  ride 
On  the  pinions  of  the  eternal  tide, 
And  to  live,  as  it  were,  in  life's  excess, 
'Midst  the  wild  waters'  frowardncs  ! 
It  is  as  if  life's  currents  too, 
Driven  by  an  impulse  strange  and  new, 
.Rolled  with  a  swifter  course,  —  partaking 
Of  the  eager  spirit  round  us  waking. 

But  soon,  too  soon,  the  busy  sea 

Is  stilled  to  us  —  reality 

Waves  over  us  her  leaden  wand  ; 

We  tread  the  dull  and  changeless  land  ! 

Our  bark  conducts  us  to  the  shore, 

And  the  fresh  breeze  impels  no  more  ; 

For  us  repose  the  joyous  waves  — 

And  we  all  slumber  in  our  graves. 


WRITTEN    AT    SEA.  181 

Thou  Steerer  of  the  storm  !  who  guidest 
Our  little  vessel  —  who  dividest 
The  waves  around  us,  —  who  hast  spread 
Heaven's  canopy  above  our  head, 
And  scattered  through  it  gales  of  love, 
To  waft  us  to  our  port  above  ; 
Thou  !  whose  omnipotent  voice  can  still 
The  mighty  ocean  as  the  rill ; 
Thou  !  subject  vast  of  praise  and  wonder, 
Who  in  the  breeze  and  in  the  thunder 
Art  heard  alike  —  to  Thee,  0  Friend  ! 
O  Father  !  I  my  lot  commend. 
And  be  it  Thine,  All- wise  !  as  now, 
A  favoring  passage  to  bestow 
Through  life's  dark  ocean  —  till  the  tomb 
Receives  us  in  its  mighty  womb, 
Where  we  shall  slumber  till  the  day, 
Of  days  the  greatest,  sends  its  ray 
Into  the  gloom  sepulchral  —  then 
Shall  the  raised  spirit  live  again, 
And  enter  on  a  course  which  never 
Can  be  disturbed  by  vain  endeavor, 
Nor  checked  by  storms  or  billows  dreary,  — 
Nor  hearts  despond  —  nor  hopes  be  weary. 
16 


182      "  THE    WORLD    IS    GIVEN    TO    THE    WICKED.'" 

"THE    WORLD   IS   GIVEN   TO  THE 
WICKED." 

'Tis  sometimes  hard  to  turn  our  eye 

Upon  that  wreck  of  hopes  and  dreams. 

Which  lighted  nours  of  ecstasy 

With  virtue's  smiles  and  freedom's  beams, — 

To  look  upon  that  wreck  —  and  see 

A  very  blank  of  misery. 

For  who  of  mortal  mould  could  e'er 
Bend  coldly  o'er  the  aspiring  mind, 
That  reared  its  visioned  temples  fair, 
And  opened  wide  on  humankind 
The  portals  whence  the  daystreams  flow 
Of  love  and  liberty  below  ? 

Too  long,  too  long  the  tyrant's  might 

Had  chilled  the  senses  —  cramped  the  soul  — 

Then,  waking  in  their  natural  light, 

They  burst  the  twilight's  dim  control, 

And,  gathering  blessings  in  their  train, 

Shed  splendor  o'er  the  earth  again. 

O 

'Tis  past !  —  'tis  past !  —  The  spreading  shade 

Of  ignorance  involves  the  world  ; 


• 


"  THE    WORLD    IS   GIVEN    TO    THE    WICKED."       183 

Our  toils  were  vain  —  our  hopes  betrayed  !  — 
And  freedom  from  her  shrines  is  hurled ; 
She  has  no  heroes  —  has  no  heirs — 
The  grave  is  ours  —  the  world  is  theirs. 

The  noblest,  holiest  of  our  race 

Die  unrevenged — they  spill  their  blood  — 

The  gay  earth  is  their  slaughter-place  — 

The  vast  globe  is  a  solitude, 

Where  their  all-withering  glance  destroys 

All  virtuous  deeds  —  all  righteous  joys. 

Great  God  of  vengeance  !  rouse  Thee  —  shower 
Thy  fiery  torrents  on  their  path  ! 
They  hate  Thy  name  —  they  scorn  Thy  power  — 
They  laugh  —  proud  rebels  !  at  Thy  wrath. 
And  dost  Thou  tarry  ?  —  Canst  Thou  yet 
Their  insults  and  Thy  might  forget  ? 

Forgive  !  forgive  !  —  Our  wishes  rove 
Bewildered  —  darkened  by  distress— - 
As  if  our  passions,  Lord  !  could  move 
Thine  all-directing  righteousness. 

Thou  knowest  all  —  Thou  rulest  all 

To  Thee  we  look  —  on  Thee  we  call. 


184  PSALM    XC. 

Wield  then  Thy  thunders  at  Thy  will, 
Thou  canst  not  err  —  our  hearts  subdued 
Shall  wait  Thy  mandate  —  calm  and  still  — 
Thy  purposes  are  wise  and  good. 
Gloom,  mists  and  clouds  surround  our  way  ; 
Thou  art  all  light  —  Thy  path  is  day. 
November,  1823. 


PSALM  XC. 

Lord  !  through  ages-gathering  time, 
On  Thee,  sacred  and  sublime, 
We  have  built  our  jojT,  our  faith  ; 
While  the  mantling  robe  of  death 
Veiled  the  unborn  mountains,  —  ere 
This  majestic  rolling  sphere 
Sprung  to  birth,  Thy  footsteps  trod 
O'er  time's  untravelled  road, 
Ever  and  eternal  God  ! 

If  Thou  speak,  destruction  calls 
Nations  to  her  midnight  halls, 
And  the  dust-born  sons  of  men 
Mingle  with  the  dust  again. 


PSALM    XC.  185 

Thousand  ages  roll  away 
In  Thy  sight,  as  yesterday 
When  'tis  past ;  a  dream  forgot 
With  the  morning's  earliest  thought. 

E'en  as  a  mighty  torrent  sweeps 
The  strawy  fragment  to  the  deeps ; 
A  vision  that  but  comes  and  goes ; 
Or  flowers  that  with  the  morning  rose, 
And  with  the  morning  flourished, 
Ere  the  cold  evening  faded,  dead  — 
Beneath  Thy  frown  we  die  ;  —  we  die. 
And  in  the  valley's  bosom  lie. 

O  God  !  Thy  spirit-searching  eye 
Reads  all  Thy  children's  histoiy  ; 
And  sins  that  seem  in  distance  veiled, 
And  errors  in  deep  shades  concealed, 
Before  Thy  penetrating  sight 
Blaze  in  a  horrid  glare  of  light. 

Careless  of  Thy  heart-searching  frown 
Oui  lamp  goes  out  —  our  life  sinks  down  — 
That  lamp  is  feeble,  cheerless,  cold ; 
That  life  a  little  history  told  ; 
16  * 


186  PSALM    XC. 

When  most  enduring  it  appears, 
And  trembling  into  seventy  years, 
Or  ten  years  more  —  its  utmost  length 
In  waxing  pain  and  wasting  strength, 
Labor  and  sorrow  :  —  then  the  thread 
Is  broken,  and  the  spirit  fled. 

But  who  Thine  anger,  Lord  !  can  bear  I 
'Tis  greater  than  a  mortal's  fear  ! 
Its  might  more  terrible  than  aught 
Of  future  dread  or  present  thought. 

O,  teach  us  to  count  our  days, 
So  to  improve  them  to  Thy  praise, 
That  wisdom  may  our  hearts  control, 
And  virtue  guide  our  wandering  soul. 

Return  and  smile  again  —  and  bend 
Thine  ear  benignant,  Father  —  Friend  ! 
No  longer  let  us  dread  Thy  wrath  — 
Send  down  Thy  sunshine  on  our  path, 
And  let  futurity  be  blest, 
If  not  with  joy,  with  peace  and  rest. 


HABAKKTJK    III.  187 

HABAKKUK. 

CHAP,    III. 

I  heard  Thee,  and  I  trembled  :  —  Awful  One  ! 
Now  speak  —  but  speak  in  mercy's  mildest  tone  , 
Wave  o'er  the  years  Thy  shadowing  wing  ;  look 

down, 
And  let  Thy  smile  burst  shining  through  Thy  frown. 
From  Teman  God  descends, 
The  Holy  One  from  Paran  bends  — 
Shout !  the  song  of  gladness  raise  : 
His  glories  cover 
Heaven's  temple  over, 
And  earth  is  pregnant  with  His  glorious  praise ; 
His  brightness  is  an  everlasting  light, 
And  streams  of  fire  burst  from  His  hand  of  might ; 
The    plague,   the     pestilence,    are     driven    before 

Him : 
He  stands  on  burning  coals,  with  clouds  and  vapors 
o'er  Him. 
The  earth  He  measures  in  His  hand ; 
The  nations  flee  at  His  command  ; 
The  everlasting  mountains  bow  ; 
The  hills  are  scattered  wide  —  and  lo  I 


188  HABAKKTJK    III. 

His  path  is  in  eternal  darkness  deep  : 

The  tents  of  Cushan  weep ; 

Midian  is  now  in  grief  arrayed, 
And  curtained  round  in  melancholy  shade. 

Lord  !  have  the  rivers  disobeyed  Thee, 

That  Thou  hast  thus  in  frowns  arrayed  Thee  ? 

Has  the  ocean  rolled  too  far, 

That  Thou  hast  mounted  Thy  glorious  car  — 

Harnessed  Thy  mighty  steeds  ; 
Lord  !  Thou  hast  bent  Thy  naked  bow, 
And  we  remember  Thy  promise  now  : 
.  Thy  judgment  now  proceeds. 
Lord  !  the  rivers  that  seek  the  sea, 
Roll  on  their  course,  as  led  by  Thee. 

The  mountains  trembled  as  Thou  passedst  by ; 
And  from  its  bounds  broke  forth  th'  o'erflowing 

ocean  ; 
The  deep  sent  forth  a  loud  and  troubled  cry, 
And  lifted  up  his  suppliant  hands  on  high  ; 
The  sun  and  mcon  stood  still  in  deep  emotion  — 
They  sr  w  the  light  of  Thy  glittering  spear  ; 
Thy  arrows  were  flying  thickly  there  — 
Dreadful  was  thy  march,  O  Lord  ! 
And  the  heathen  fell  beneath  Thy  sword, 


HABAKKUK    III.  189 

'Twas  for  Thy  chosen  people  —  the  salvation 
Of  Thine  anointed  nation. 

Thou  hast  upset  the  wicked  in  his  pride ; 
He  came  forth  like  a  whirlwind  to  destroy  — 
His  palace  is  in  dust,  —  and  his  unholy  joy, 
Oppression,  —  is  subdued.     Thou,  Lord  !  didst  ride 
O'er  the  great  waters  :  when  I  heard,  I  shook  — 
How  could  I  in  Thy  presence  stand  ? 
How  on  Thy  dazzling  brightness  look  ? 
Voiceless  my  tongue  became,  and  impotent  my 

hand. 
Though  the  fig  tree  should  not  shoot 
Its  wonted  blossoms  —  though  the  vine, 
Scathed  by  Thee,  should  yield  no  fruit  — 
Though  the  olive  fail  —  the  kine 
In  the  stalls  should  droop  and  die,  — 
In  the  folds  the  fleecy  flock  : 
Yet  the  Lord  shall  be  my  joy ! 
Yet  the  Lord  shall  be  my  rock  ! 
He  shall  be  my  hope,  my  strength, 
My  rejoicing  shall  He  be  ! 
He  will  lead  my  soul  at  length 
To  His  own  felicity. 


190  I    CORINTHIANS    XIII. 


CORINTHIANS. 

FIRST    BOOK CHAP.    XTII. 

Though  every  tongue  that  man  e'er  uttered,  broke 
From  my  all-eloquent  lips  —  and  though  I  spoke 
The  languages  of  angels  —  if  my  soul 
Were  not  attuned  to  love's  sweet  music,  all, 
All  were  a  hollow  sound  —  an  idle  voice, 
A  bell's  dull  tinkling,  or  a  cymbal's  noise. 

Though  I  could  read  the  books  of  prophecy ; 
Withdraw  the  veil  of  heavenly  mystery  ; 
Though  science  led  me  through  her  various  way, 
And  I  had  power,  power  from  above,  to  say, 
"  Remove,  thou  mountain  !  "  this  were  nought,  and  I 
A  useless  nothing,  without  Charity. 

Though  thousand  wretches  crowded  round  my  door, 
Relieved,  protected  by  my  generous  store, — 
Though  neither  flame  nor  sword  could  shake  my  faith* 
A  martyr  towering  o'er  the  fear  of  death,  — 
I  were  no  offering  worthy  of  above, 
Unless  supported  and  impelled  by  love. 


I    CORINTHIANS    XIII.  191 

Love  is  long-suffering,  generous,  candid  ;  free 

From  envy,  pride,  and  self-complacency ; 

Benignant  and  benificent  and  mild, 

Pure-hearted  and  confiding  as  a  child. 

She  mourns  the  ravages  of  vice  —  but  sees 

With  holy  joy  truth's  glorious  victories. 

All  things  she  bears,  with  hero  courage  bears, 

And  trusts  to  Heaven  her  pleasures  and  her  cares,  * 

And  hopes  that  all  things  hasten  on  to  bliss, 

And  all  endures,  with  such  sweet  hope  as  this. 

She  never  fails  —  the  prophet's  sacred  tongue 
Shall  by  the  hand  of  ages  be  unstrung ; 
The  wonder-working  gifts  of  Heaven  shall  ceaset 
And  knowledge  perish  in  forgetfulness ; 
But  soon  shall  better  prospects  dawn  —  the  ray 
.  Of  twilight  brightens  into  perfect  day, 
And  weakness,  weariness,  and  gloom  and  night, 
Give  way  to  beauty,  strength,  and  joy,  and  light. 

E'en  as  a  child,  in  early  opening  hours, 

Totters  and  trips,  and  plies  his  little  powers ; 

From  his  young  lips  imperfect  accents  break, 

His  thoughts  are  wandering,  and  his  judgment  weak  ; 

Yet,  as  his  years  flow  on,  intelligence 

Glows  in  his  mind,  and  winning  eloquence 


192  I    CORINTHIANS    XIII. 

Flows  from  his  tongue  ;  he  stands  erect,  and  can 
Glory  in  all  the  pride  and  power  of  man :  — 
So  do  we  journey  heavenwards  —  children  here, 
But  we  shall  grow  to  man's  perfection  there. 

Our  earthly  vision  is  but  dark  and  dim : 
There  shall  we  see  in  the  pure  light  of  Him 
Who  is  all  brightness  ;  every  mist  disperse 
That  mantles  now  the  gloomy  universe  ; 
All  perils  past,  all  tears,  all  terrors  o'er, 
And  doubt,  distress,  and  hope  delude  no  more. 

There  are  three  angels  sent  by  Heaven  to  guide 
Our  earthly  barks  through  time's  deceitful  tide  : 
Faith,  Hope  and  Charity  —  benignant  three  ! 
Charity  fairest  —  follow  Charity ! 


ANXIETIES    AND    COMFORTS.  193 


ANXIETIES   AND  COMFORTS. 

The  dreams  which  early  moments  decked 
Hope's  sunny  summer  hours,  are  o'er ; 
And  my  frail  bark  at  last  is  wrecked 
On  sullen  reason's  rocky  shore. 

• 
I  was  a  joyous  streamlet,  tossed 
From  hill  to  vale  in  eager  play ; 
And  now  among  the  mountains  lost, 
Now  sweeping  o'er  the  plains  my  way. 

I  kissed  the  flowers,  —  the  woods  I  taught 
To  echo  back  my  song ;  —  'tis  past ! 
Lost  in  the  mighty  sea  of  thought, 
The  little  streamlet  rests  at  last. 

I  trembled  to  the  gentle  breeze  — 
Sent  back  the  gorgeous  sunbeams  far; 
Heard  all  the  moonlight's  mysteries, 
And  smiled  with  every  smiling  star. 

A  mingling  light  of  joy  and  love, 
Of  peace  and  hope  a  blended  sound ; 
17  m 


194  ANXIETIES    AND    COMFORTS. 

Heaven's  azure  arches  spread  abcve. 
And  laughing  Nature  all  around. 

Ah  !  these  were  blissful  moments  ;  yet 
I  revel  in  their  memory, — 
And  present  cares  and  fe.ars  forget 
In  that  departed  ecstasy. 

Yes  !  they  are  fled  —  those  hours  are  fled 
Yet  their  sweet  memories  smiling  come, 
Like  spirits  of  the  hallowed  dead, 
And  linger  round  their  earlier  home. 

Rapt  in  the  thought,  my  passions  seem 
To  drink  th'  exhausted  cup  of  bliss  : 
And  do  I  dream  ?     Was  ever  dream 
So  bright,  so  beautiful  as  this  ? 

Alas  !  I  hear  the  thunders  roll, 
And  wake,  and  meditate,  and  weep ; 
Night's  gloomy  mantle  wraps  my  soul, 
And  cheerless  silence  rules  the  deep. 

I  tread  my  melancholy  road, 
No  more  by  vain  delusions  driven  ; 
Hold  solemn  converse  with  my  God, 
And  track  my  onward  way  to  heaven. 


ANXIETIES    AND    COMFORTS.  J<j  j 

Then  from  the  world's  proud  glare  I  turn 
To  yonder  bright  and  golden  sky  ; 
And  there  I  study  —  thence  I  learn 
The  worth  of  worldly  pageantry. 

No  more  with  dazzled  eyes  I  look 
Upon  yon  vain  and  lettered  sage  ; 
For  nature  is  a  gentler  book, 
And  deeper  wisdom  fills  her  page. 

Her  groves  to  me  are  painted  halls; 
Perfumes,  her  early  morning  air ; 
Her  mountains,  castellated  walls  — 
And  all  is  honest  welcome  there. 

Her  concerts  are  of  birds  and  bees, 
And  rivers,  and  the  glorious  sea ; 
And  holy  are  her  revelries, 
And  pure  her  joys  as  thought  can  be. 

Why  should  I  murmur  ?     O'er  this  scene, 
Though  night  descend  and  thunders  roll, 
Man  may  create  a  heaven  within, 
In  the  still  temple  of  the  soul. 


196  SISTE,   VIATOR  ! 


SISTE,  VIATOR! 

Look  around  thee  —  see  decay 
On  her  wing  of  darkness,  sweeping 
Earth's  proud  monuments  away  — 
See  the  muse  of  history  weeping 
O'er  the  ruins  time  hath  made  — 
Strength  in  dust  and  ashes  laid, 
Virtue  in  oblivion  sleeping. 

Look  around  thee  —  wisdom  there 
Careless  death  confounds  with  folly 
In  a  common  sepulchre  ; 
See  the  unrighteous  and  the  holy 
Blended  in  the  general  wreck  ; 
Well  those  tears  may  wet  thy  cheek, 
Tears  of  doubt  and  melancholy. 

Look  around  thee  —  beauty's  light 
Is  extinguished,  —  death  assembles 
Youth's  gay  morn  and  age's  night ; 
And  the  steadfast  mountain  trembles 
At  his  glance,  like  autumn's  leaf — 
"  All,"  he  cries,  "  is  vain,  is  brief;  n 
And  the  tyrant  ne'er  dissembles. 


SISTE,    VIATOR  !  197 

Look  behind  thee,  —  cities  hid 
In  the  night  of  treacherous  story .; 
Many  a  crumbling  pyramid, 
Many  a  pile  of  senseless  glory ; 
Temples  into  ruin  hurled, 
"  Fragments  of  an  earlier  world,'' 
Froken  fanes,  and  altars  hoary. 

Look  behind  thee  —  men  whose  frown 
Made  whole  nations  quake  before  them  — 
What  is  left  of  their  renown  ? 
Wrecks  around,  oblivion  o'er  them ; 
Kings  .and  conquerors,  where  are  they  ? 
Ask  yon  worthless  heaps  of  clay  — 
O,  despise  not,  but  deplore  them ! 

Look  behind  thee  —  bards  sublime, 

Smiling  nymphs,  and  solemn  sages — 

Go  !  inquire  their  names  of  time  : 

Bid  it  read  its  earliest  pages. 

Foolish  questioner  !  —  If  fame 

Guard  through  years  a  cherished  name  — 

Fame  itself  decays  in  ages. 

Look  before  thee  —  all  the  glare, 
All  the  pomp,  around  thee  glowing ; 
17* 


198  siste,  viator! 

All  that  charms  the  eye  or  ear, 
Strains  of  softest  music  flowing, 
Grace  and  beauty  —  all  are  sped 
Towards  the  ruins  of  the  dead : 
Thither  thou  and  thine  are  going. 

Look  before  thee  —  at  yon  vault, 
Where  time's  ravage  is  recorded, 
Thou  wilt  be  compelled  to  halt : 
Thou  wilt  be  no  more  regarded 
Than  the  meekest,  meanest  slave, 
Resting  in  a  common  grave, 
Unrespected  —  unrewarded. 

Look  before  thee  —  at  thy  feet 
Monarchs  sleep  like  meaner  creatures  : 
Where  the  voices,  now  so  sweet  ? 
Where  the  fair  one's  smiling  features  ? 
Hop'st  thou  to  escape  the  tomb  ? 
That  which  was  thy  father's  doom, 
Will  be  thine,  thy  son's,  and  nature's. 

Look  above  thee  —  there  indeed 
May  thy  thoughts  repose  delighted  ; 
If  thy  wounded  bosom  bleed, 
If  thy  fondest  hopes  be  blighted ; 


SISTE,    VIATOR  !  199 

There  a  stream  of  comfort  flows, 
There  a  sun  of  splendor  glows  : 
Wander,  then,  no  more  benighted  ! 

Look  above  thee  —  ages  roll, 
Present,  past  and  future  blending ; 
Earth  hath  not  to  soothe  a  soul 
'Neath  affliction's  burden  bending  ; 
Nothing  'gainst  the  tempest's  shock  ; 
Heaven  must  be  the  pilgrim's  rock, 
And  to  heaven  his  steps  are  tending. 

Look  above  thee  —  never  eye 
Saw  such  pleasures  as  await  thee  ; 
Thought  ne'er  reached  such  scenes  of  joy- 
As  are  there  prepared  to  meet  thee  : 
Light  undying,  —  seraph's  lyres, — 
Angel  welcomes,  —  cherub  choirs 
Smiling  through  heaven's  doors  to  greet  thee. 


200  BLESSINGS    OF    INSTRUCTION. 


BLESSINGS   OF  INSTRUCTION. 

The  heart  has  tendrils  like  the  vine, 

Which  round  another's  bosom  twine, 

Outspringing  from  the  living  tree 

Of  deeply-planted  sympathy ; 

Whose  flowers  are  hope,  its  fruits  are  bliss, 

Beneficence  its  harvest  is. 

There  are  some  bosoms  dark  and  drear, 
Which  an  unwatered  desert  are  ; 
Yet  there  a  curious  eye  may  trace 
Some  smiling  spot,  some  verdant  place, 
Where  little  flowers,  the  weeds  between, 
Spend  their  soft  fragrance  all  unseen. 

Despise  them  not  —  fcr  wisdom's  toil 
Has  ne'er  disturbed  that  stubborn  soil  : 
Yet  care  and  culture  might  have  brought 
Xhe  ore  of  truth  from  mines  of  thought ; 
And  fancy's  fairest  flowers  had  bloomed 
Where  truth  and  fancy  lie  intombed. 

Insult  him  not  —  his  blackest  crime 
May,  in  his  Maker's  eye  sublime, 


BLESSINGS    OF    INSTRUCTION.  201 

In  spite  of  all  thy  pride,  be  less 
Than  e'en  thy  daily  waywardness  ; 
Than  many  a  sin  and  many  a  stain 
Forgotten  —  and  impressed  again. 

There  is  in  every  human  heart 
Some  not  completely  barren  part, 
Where  seeds  of  truth  and  love  might  grow 
And  flowers  of  generous  virtue  blow  : 
To  plant,  to  watch,  to  water  there  — 
This,  as  our  duty,  be  our  care ! 

And  sweet  it  is  the  growth  to  trace, 

Of  worth,  of  intellect,  of  grace, 

In  bosoms  where  our  labors  first 

Bid  the  young  seed  of  spring  time  burst, 

And  lead  it  on  from  hour  to  hour, 

To  ripen  into  perfect  flower. 

Hast  thou  e'er  seen  a  garden  clad 

In  all  the  robes  that  Eden  had  — 

Or  vale  o'erspread  with  streams  and  trees, 

A  paradise  of  mysteries  — 

Plains  with  green  hills  adorning  them, 

Like  jewels  in  a  diadem  ? 


202  BLESSINGS    OF    INSTRUCTION. 

These  gardens,  vales,  and  plains,  and  hills, 
Which  beauty  gilds  and  music  fills, 
Were  once  but  deserts  ;  culture's  hand 
Has  scattered  verdure  o'er  the  land, 
And  smiles  and  fragrance  rule  serene, 
Where  barren  wilds  usurped  the  scene. 

And  such  is  man.     A  soil  which  breeds 
Or  sweetest  flowers  or  vilest  weeds  ; 
Flowers  lovely  as  the  morning's  light, 
Weeds  deadly  as  the  aconite  ; 
Just  as  his  heart  is  trained  to  bear 
The  poisonous  weed,  or  floweret  fair. 


SONNET.  203 


SONNET. 


'Tis  not  Thy  terrors,  Lord  !  Thy  dreadful  frown, 

Which  keep  my  step  in  duty's  narrow  path  ; 

'Tis  not  the  awful  threatenings  of  Thy  wrath,  — 

But  that,  in  Virtue's  sacred  smile  alone 

I  find  or  peace  or  happiness.     Thy  light, 

In  all  its  prodigality,  is  shed 

Upon  the  worthy  and  the  unworthy  head  : 

And  Thou  dost  wrap  in  misery's  stormy  night 

The  holy  as  the  thankless.     All  is  well  ; 

Thy  wisdom  has  to  each  his  portion  given  ; 

Why  should  our  hearts  by  selfishness  be  riven  r 

'Tis  vain  to  murmur  —  daring  to  rebel  — 

Lord  !  I  would  fear  Thee,  though  I  feared  not  hell ; 

And  love  Thee,  though  I  had  no  hopes  of  heaven.* 

*  Aunque  no  hubiera  cielo  yo  te  amara, 
Y  aunque  no  hubiera  infierno  te  temiera. 

Sa2*ta  Teresa. 


204  HYMN. 


HYMN. 

From  the  recesses  of  a  lowly  spirit 
My  humble  prayer  ascends  —  O  Father !  hear  it ! 
Upsoaring  on  the  wings  of  fear  and  meekness, 
Forgive  its  weakness. 

I  know,  I  feel,  how  mean  and  how  unworthy 
The  trembling  sacrifice  I  pour  before  Thee  ; 
What  can  I  offer  in  Thy  presence  holy, 
But  sin  and  folly  ? 

For  in  Thy  sight  —  who  every  bosom  viewest, 
Cold  are  our  warmest  vows,  and  vain  our  truest ; 
Thoughts  of  a  hurrying  hour ;  our  lips  repeat  them 
Our  hearts  forget  them. 

We  see  Thy  hand  —  it  leads  us,  it  supports  us  ; 
We  hear  Thy  voice  —  it  counsels  and  it  courts  us ; 
And  then  we  turn  away  —  and  still  Thy  kindness 
Pardons  our  blindness. 

And  still  Thy  rain  descends,  Thy  sun  is  glowing, 
Fruits  ripen  round,  flowers  are  beneath  us  blowing, 
And,  as  if  man  were  some  deserving  creature, 
Joys  cover  nature. 


HYMN.  205 

O,  how  long-suffering,  Lord  !  but  Thou  delightest 
To  win  with  love  the  wandering  —  Thou  invitest, 
By  smiles  of  mercy,  not  by  frowns  or  terrors, 
Man  from  his  errors. 

Who  can  resist  Thy  gentle  call  —  appealing 
To  every  generous  thought  and  grateful  feeling  ? 
That  voice  paternal  —  whispering,  watching  ever, 
My  bosom  ?  —  never. 

Father  and  Savior  !  plant  within  that  bosom 
These  seeds  of  holiness  —  and  bid  them  blossom 
In  fragrance  and  in  beauty  bright  and  vernal, 
And  spring  eternal. 

Then  place  them  in  those  everlasting  gardens, 
Where  angels  walk,  and  seraphs  are  the  wardens ; 
Where  every  flower  that  creeps  through  death's  dark 

portal 
Becomes  immortal. 
18 


206  HYMN. 


HYMN. 


If  ail  our  hopes  and  all  our  fears 
Were  prisoned  in  life's  narrow  bound ; 
If,  travellers  through  this  vale  of  tears, 
We  saw  no  better  world  beyond  ; 
O,  what  could  check  the  rising  sigh, 
What  earthly  thing  could  pleasure  give  ? 
O,  who  would  venture  then  to  die  — 
O,  who  could  then  endure  to  live  ? 

Were  life  a  dark  and  desert  moor, 
Where  mists  and  clouds  eternal  spread 
Their  gloomy  veil  behind,  before, 
And  tempests  thunder  overhead  : 
Where  not  a  sunbeam  breaks  the  gloom, 
And  not  a  floweret  smiles  beneath  ; 
Who  could  exist  in  such  a  tomb  ? 
Who  dwell  in  darkness  and  in  death  ? 

And  such  were  life,  without  the  ray 
From  our  divine  religion  given  ; 
'Tis  this  that  makes  our  darkness  day  ; 
'Tis  this  that  makes  our  earth  a  heaven. 


DEATH.  207 


Bright  is  the  golden  sun  above, 
And  beautiful  the  flowers  that  bloom  ; 
And  all  is  joy,  and  all  is  love, 
Reflected  from  a  world  to  come. 


DEATH.    ' 

What  is  it  to  die  ?  —  To  drink 
Of  a  yet  untasted  river  ; 
To  leap  from  a  yet  untrodden  brink, 
Which  we  shall  revisit  never. 

'Tis  to  take  a  journey  afar, 

In  a  cold  and  murky  night, 

Through  paths  unknown,  where  moon  or  star 

Ne'er  shed  a  smile  of  light. 

:Tis  to  sleep  in  a  clayey  cell, 
With  corruption  for  our  bride  ; 
Deaf,  dumb,  insensible, 
Waked  by  no  morning's  tide. 

'Tis  to  mingle  with  ashec  and  dust, 
Like  the  meanest  thing  we  see  ; 


208  DEATH. 

And  be  blown  about  by  the  windy  gust, 
Or  dissolve  in  the  mighty  sea. 

What  is  it  to  die  ?  —  'Tis  nought 
But  to  close  the  book  of  care, 
Inter  in  the  grave  all  troubling  thought, 
And  rest  with  oblivion  there. 

This  is  the  worst ;  for  if  truth 

Shine  in  the  Scripture  page, 

The  spirit  shall  wear  the  wings  of  youth, 

And  live  through  an  endless  age. 

It  shall  bathe  in  the  living  streams 
Round  the  gardens  of  heaven  that  flow  : 
And  revel  in  light,  whose  dazzling  beams 
Disperse  all  the  mists  of  woe. 

Like  a  star  in  a  cloudless  night, 
Pure  and  sublime  shall  it  be  — 
Fairer  than  noontide's  presence  bright  — ■ 
Fixed  as  eternity. 


HYMN.  209 


HYMN. 


How  dark  —  how  desolate 

Would  many  a  moment  be, 

Could  we  not  spring 

On  hope's  bright  wing, 

O  God  !  to  heaven  and  Thee  ! 

Life  is  a  prison  cell 

We  are  doomed  to  occupy, 
In  which  confined, 
The  restless  mind 

Pines,  pants  for  liberty. 

And  sometimes  streaks  of  light 
And  sunny  beams  we  see  ; 
They  shine  so  bright 
Through  sorrow's  night, 

They  needs  must  come  from  Thee. 

Say,  shall  a  morning  dawn 

When  prison  days  are  o'er, 
Whose  smiling  ray 
Shall  wake  a  day, 

That  night  shall  cloud  no  more  ? 
18*  N 


210  HYMN. 

Blest  hope  !  and  sure  as  blest , 
Life's  shades  of  misery 
Shall  soon  be  past, 
And  joy  at  last 

Waft  us  to  heaven  and  Thee, 


HYMN. 

Why  should  dreams  so  dark  and  dreary 

Fill  my  thought? 

Is  there  nought, 
Nought  to  soothe  and  bless  the  weary  ? 
Night  may  wrap  the  arch  of  heaven  — 

Soon  a  ray, 

Bright  with  day, 
Cheers  the  morn  and  gilds  the  even. 

I  have  seen  the  mountain  hidden 

In  a  shroud  — 

Mist  and  cloud  ; 
Say,  was  hope  or  joy  forbidden  ? 
No  !  —  I  knew  its  summit  hoary 
Soon  would  rise 

'Midst  the  skies, 
Girt  with  green  and  crowned  with  glory. 


IIYMN.  211 

Many  a  stream  with  song  of  gladness, 

Many  a  rill, 

Silent,  still, 
Winter  binds  in  chains  of  sadness,  — 
Many  a  waterfall  and  river  :  — 

Summer's  wand 

Breaks  their  band, 
And  their  music  ceases  never. 

Is  the  sun  in  heaven  no  longer, 

When  the  rain 

Sweeps  the  plain  ? 
Soon  he  blazes  brighter  —  stronger, 
Is  the  floweret's  sleep  eternal, 

When  its  cup, 

Folded  up, 
Waits  the  smiles  and  breezes  vernal  ? 

Why  should  man,  then  —  child  of  sorrow  ! 

Mourn  his  doom  ? 

Present  gloom 
Will  be  light  and  bliss  to-morrow. 
Why  should  man,  then,  bound  his  vision 

To  the  cell 

Where  we  dwell  ? 
Worlds  are  his  —  and  worlds  elysian. 


212  HYMN. 

Even  here  all  pain  is  fleeting  ; 

Even  here, 

Joy  and  care 
Join  in  constant,  earnest  greeting  : 
But  where  all  our  hopes  are  tending, 

Peace  and  love 

Reign  above  — 
Bliss  unbroken  — joy  unending. 


HYMN. 

O,  let  my  trembling  soul  be  still, 
While  darkness  veils  this  mortal  eye, 
And  wait  Thy  wise,  Thy  holy  will, 
Wrapped  yet  in  fears  and  mystery  : 
I  cannot,  Lord,  thy  purpose  see  ; 
Yet  all  is  well  —  since  ruled  by  Thee. 

When,  mounted  on  Thy  clouded  car, 

Thou  send'st  Thy  darker  spirits  down, 

I  can  discern  Thy  light  afar, 

Thy  light  sweet  beaming  through  Thy  frown ; 

And,  should  I  faint  a  moment  —  then 

I  think  of  Thee,  —  and  smile  again. 


HYMN.  213 

So,  trusting  in  Thy  love,  I  tread 

The  narrow  path  of  duty  on  ; 

What  though  some  cherished  joys  are  flea  t 

What  though  some  flattering  dreams  are  gone  ? 

Yet  purer,  brighter  joys  remain  ; 

Why  should  my  spirit  then  compVain  ? 


HYMN. 

In  the  dust  I'm  doomed  to  sleep, 
But  shall  not  sleep  forever  ; 
Fear  may  for  a  moment  weep, 
Christian  courage  —  never. 
Years  in  rapid  course  shall  roll, 
By  time's  chariot  driven, 
And  my  reawakened  soul 
Wing  its  flight  to  heaven. 

What  though  o'er  my  mortal  tomb 
Clouds  and  mists  be  blending  ? 
Sweetest  hopes  shall  chase  the  gloom, 
Hopes  to  heaven  ascending. 
These  shall  be  my  stay,  my  trust, 
Ever  bright  and  vernal ;  — 
Life  shall  blossom  out  of  dust, 
Life  and  joy  eternal. 


214  HYMN. 


HYMN. 

I  have  seen  the  morning  vapor 
Scattered  by  the  eye  of  day  ; 
I  have  seen  the  evening  taper 
Shine  and  glimmer  and  decay  ; 
And  bethought  me,  as  I  stood, 
These  are  man's  similitude. 

Man  is  like  a  vapor  flying 

With  the  twilight  o'er  the  dell ; 

Man  is  like  a  pale  lamp  dying 

In  its  solitary  cell ; 

Light  and  shade  —  and  ill  and  good  — 

Such  is  man's  vicissitude. 

Man  is  like  a  vapor  blending 

With  the  dew  of  morning's  breath ; 

Man  is  like  a  pale  lamp  tending 

To  its  melancholy  death ; 

Neither  spared  by  whirlwinds  rude  — 

Such  is  man's  similitude. 


H\MN.  215 


HYMN. 

Jesus  teaching  the  people. 

How  sweetly  flowed  the  gospel's  sound, 
From  lips  of  gentleness  and  grace, 

When  listening  thousands  gathered  round, 
And  joy  and  reverence  filled  the  place  ! 

From  heaven  he  came  —  of  heaven  he  spoke, 
To  heaven  he  led  his  followers'  way  ; 

Dark  clouds  of  gloomy  night  he  broke. 
Unveiling  an  immortal  day. 

"  Come,  wanderers,  to  my  Father's  home  ; 

"  Come,  all  ye  weaiy  ones,  and  rest !  " 
Yes  !  sacred  Teacher,  —  we  will  come  — 

Obey  thee,  love  thee,  and  be  blest ! 

Decay,  then,  tenements  of  dust ! 

Pillars  of  earthly  pride,  decay  ! 
A  nobler  mansion  waits  the  just, 

And  Jesus  has  prepared  the  way. 


216 


HYMN    TO    THE    DEITY. 


HYMN  TO  THE   DEITY. 

"There  is  no  sound  or  language  where  their  voice  is  not  heard." 

The  heavenly  spheres  to  Thee,  O  God  !  attune  their 
evening  hymn  ; 

All-wise,  All-holy,  Thou  art  praised  in  song  of  sera- 
phim ; 

Unnumbered  systems,  suns  and  worlds,  unite  to  wor- 
ship Thee, 

While  Thy  majestic  greatness  fills  space  — time  — 
eternity. 

Nature,  — a  temple  worthy  Thee    that  beams  with 

light  and  love, 
Whose  flowers  so  sweetly  bloom  below,  whose  stars 

rejoice  above ; 
Whose  altars  are  the  mountain  cliffs  that  rise  along 

the  shore  ; 
Whose  anthems,  the  sublime  accord  of  storm  and 

ocean  roar : 

Her  song  of  gratitude  is  sung  by  spring's  awaken- 
ing hours, 

Her  summer  offers  at  Thy  shrine  its  earliest,  love- 
liest flowers  ; 


HYMN    TO    THE    DEITY.  217 

Her  autumn  brings  its  ripened  fruits,  in  glorious 
luxury  given, 

While  winter's  silver  heights  reflect  Thy  bright- 
ness back  to  heaven ! 

On  all  Thou  smil'st  —  and  what  is  man,  before  Thy 

presence,  God  ? 
A  breath  but  yesterday  inspired  , —  to-morrow  but  a 

clod  : 
That  clod  shall  moulder  in  the  vale,  —  till  kindled, 

Lord,  by  Thee. 
Its  spirit  to  Thine  arms  shall  spring  —  to  life. —  to 

liberty. 

19 


218  AN    ASPIRATION. 


AN  ASPIRATION. 

If  'twere  but  to  retire  from  woe, 
To  undisturbed  eternal  rest  — 

How  passing  sweet  to  sleep  below, 

On  nature's  fair 'and  flowery  breast ! 

But  when  faith's  finger  points  on  high, 
From  death's  decaying,  dismal  cell ; 

O,  'tis  a  privilege  to  die  — 

To  dream  of  bliss  ineffable  ! 

In  balmy  sleep  our  eyes  to  close, 

When  life's  last  sunshine  gilds  our  even, 
And  then  to  wake  from  long  repose, 

When  dawns  the  glorious  day  of  heaven. 


TRANSLATION.  219 


TRANSLATION. 


Brightest  of  spirits  !  proudly  throned  on  high 
'Midst  the  gold  flames  that  flash  from  star  and  sun, 
In  the  wide  deserts  of  th'  ethereal  sky  — 
Th'  Incomprehensible,  Almighty  One  ! 
Dart  the  pure  radiance  of  Thy  presence  down 
On  this  benighted  vale  ;  —  to  mortal  eye 
Display  the  splendors  of  Thy  majesty, 
And  open  all.  the  glories  of  Thy  throne. 
Ages  of  old  Thee  recognized,  —  though  seen 
Dimly  amidst  Thy  works  :  —  and  man  upraised 
Temples  and  altars  to  Thy  shadowed  name. 
A  God,  a  Father  all  Thy  works  proclaim, 
Who  is,  and  shall  be,  and  hath  ever  been, 
Though  veiled  in  darkness,  and  in  silence  praised  ! 

Pellegeino  Gaudenzi. 


220  GOD. 

GOD. 

(Translation.) 

Creating  —  uncreated  energy  ! 
Who  ruPst  and  govern'st  all  that  Thou  hast  made; 
Whose  firm  and  everlasting  feet  are  staid 
On  changeless  fate  —  time  and  eternity  ! 
Thou  givest  light  to  morn  —  to  evening  shade  ! 
Directest  earth  and  heaven's  high  majesty  ! 
Unseen,  unswayed,  —  all  seen,  all  swayed  by  Thee  ! 
Unmoved,  yet  moving  all,  —  by  all  obeyed  ! 
Present  in  every  place,  —  confined  to  none  ! 
Vice  trembles,  virtue  smiles  beneath  Thy  Dower ; 
Thou  mad'st  the  blazing  beam,  the  white  frost  hoar. 
Thou  only  m  Thyself  art  seen  and  known. 
Being  that  I  know  not  —  yet  unknown,  adore  — 
Thou  only  God  !  —  Thou  art  Thyself  alone  ! 

Sai/vini. 


HYMN.  221 


HYMN. 


He  who  walks  in  virtue's  way, 

Firm  and  fearless,  walketh  surely ; 
Diligent  while  yet  'tis  day, 

On  he  speeds,  and  speeds  securely. 
Flowers  of  peace  beneath  him  grow, 

Suns  of  pleasure  brighten  o'er  him ; 
Memory's  joys  behind  him  go, 

Hope's  sweet  angels  fly  before  him. 

Thus  he  moves  from  stage  to  stage, 

Smiles  of  earth  and  heaven  attending  \ 
Softly  sinking  down  in  age, 

And  at  last  to  death  descending. 
Cradled  in  its  quiet  deep, 

Calm  as  summer's  loveliest  even, 
He  shall  sleep  the  hallowed  sleep ; 

Sleep,  that  is  o'erwatched  by  Heaven. 

Till  that  day  of  days  shall  come, 

When  th'  archangel's  trumpet  breaking 
Through  the  silence  of  the  tomb, 

All  its  prisoners  awaking  ; 
19* 


222  HYMN. 

He  shall  hear  the  thundering  blast, 

Burst  the  chilling  bands  that  bound  him  ; 

To  the  throne  of  glory  haste, 

All  heaven's  splendors  opening  round  him. 


HYMN. 

When  before  Thy  throne  we  kneel, 

Filled  with  awe  and  holy  fear, 
Teach  us,  0  our  God !  to  feel 

All  Thy  sacred  presence  near. 
Check  each  proud  and  wandering  thought 

When  on  Thy  great  name  we  call ; 
Man  is  nought  —  is  less  than  nought : 

Thou,  our  God,  art  all  in  all. 

Weak,  imperfect  creatures,  we 

In  this  vale  of  darkness  dwell  ; 
Yet  presume  to  look  to  Thee, 

'Midst  Thy  light  ineffable. 
O,  forgive  the  praise  that  dares 

Seek  Thy  heaven-exalted  throne  ; 
Bless  our  offerings,  hear  our  prayers, 

Infinite  and  Holy  One  ! 


TO    A    VIOLET.  223 


TO  A   VIOLET. 


Sweet  flower  !  Spring's  earliest,  loveliest  gem  ! 

While  other  flowers  are  idly  sleeping, 
Thou  rear'st  thy  purple  diadem  ; 

Meekly  from  thy  seclusion  peeping. 

Thou,  from  thy  little  secret  mound, 

Where  diamond  dewdrops  shine  above  thee, 
Scatterest  thy  modest  fragrance  round  ; 

And  well  may  nature's  poet  love  thee  ! 

Yes  !  I  have  envied  thee,  sweet  flower  ! 

And  longed  like  thee  to  live  obscurely  ; 
Sheltered  in  some  benignant  bower, 

And  breathing  forth  my  soul  so  purely. 

Thine  is  a  short,  swift  reign,  I  know  — 
But  here,  thy  spirit  still  pervading  — 

New  violet  tufts  again  shall  blow, 

Then  fade  away  —  as  thou  art  fading, 

And  be  renewed  :  the  hope  how  blest, 

(O,  may  that  hope  desert  me  never  !) 

Like  thee  to  sleep  on  nature's  breast, 

And  wake  again,  and  bloom  forever  ! 


224  HYMN. 


HYMN. 

Father  and  Friend  !  Thy  light,  Thy  love, 
Beaming  through  all  Thy  works  we  see ; 

Thy  glory  gilds  the  heavens  above, 
And  all  the  earth  is  full  of  Thee. 

Thy  voice  we  hear  —  Thy  presence  feel, 
Whilst  Thou,  too  pure  for  mortal  sight, 

Involved  in  clouds  —  invisible, 

Reignest  the  Lord  of  life  and  light. 

We  know  not  in  what  hallowed  part 

Of  the  wide  heavens  Thy  throne  may  be  ; 

But  this  we  know,  that  where  Thou  art, 

Strength,  wisdom,  goodness  dwell  with  Thee. 

And  through  the  various  maze  of  time, 
And  through  th'  infinity  of  space, 

We  follow  Thy  career  sublime, 

And  all  Thy  wondrous  footsteps  trace. 

Thy  children  shall  not  faint  nor  fear, 

Sustained  by  this  delightful  thought, 

Since  Thou,  their  God,  art  every  where, 
They  cannot  be  where  Thou  art  not. 


HYMN.  225 


HYMN. 


The  offerings  to  Thy  throne  which  rise, 
Of  mingled  praise  and  prayer, 

Are  but  a  worthless  sacrifice 
Unless  the  heart  is  there. 

Upon  Thine  all-discerning  ear 
Let  no  vain  words  intrude  ; 

No  tribute  —  but  the  vow  sincere,  — 
The  tribute  of  the  good. 

My  offerings  will  indeed  be  blest, 

If  sanctified  by  Thee  ; 
If  Thy  pure  spirit  touch  my  heart 

With  its  own  purity. 

O,  may  that  spirit  warm  my  heart 

To  piety  and  love  ; 
And  to  life's  lowly  vale  impart 

Some  rays  from  heaven  above. 


226  PERSECUTION. 


PERSECUTION. 

Let  those  who  doubt  the  heavenly  source 

Of  revelation's  page  divine, 

Use  as  their  weapons  fraud  and  force  — 

No  such  unhallowed  arms  are  mine. 

I  only  wield  its  holy  word  — 

Reason  its  shield,  and  truth  its  sword. 

I  doubt  not ;  —  my  religion  stands 
A  beacon  on  the  eternal  rock,  — 
Let  malice  throw  her  fiery  brands  ; 
Its  sacred  fane  has  stood  the  shock 
Of  ages  —  and  shall  tower  sublime 
Above  the  waves  and  winds  of  time. 

Infinite  wisdom  formed  the  plan  ; 

Infinite  power  supports  the  pile  ; 

Infinite  goodness  poured  on  man 

Its  radiant  light  —  its  cheering  smile. 

Need  they  tliiiie  aid  ?  —  poor  worm !  —  thine  aid ! 

O,  mad  presumption  —  vain  parade  ! 

Thou  wilt  not  trust  th'  Almighty  One 

With  His  own  thunders  —  thou  wouldst  throw 


PERSECUTION.  227 

The  bolts  of  heaven  !  —  O,  senseless  son 
Of  dust  and  darkness  !  —  Spider  !  go, 
And  with  thy  cobweb  bind  the  tide, 
And  the  swift,  dazzling  comet  guide. 

Yes  !  force  has  conquering  reasons  given, 
And  chains  and  tortures  argue  well,  — 
And  thou  hast  proved  thy  faith  from  heaven, 
By  weapons  thou  hast  brought  from  hell. 
Yes !  thou  hast  made  thy  title  good, 
For  thou  hast  signed  the  deed  with  blood. 

Daring  impostor  !  sure  that  God, 

Whose  advocate  thou  feign'st  to  be, 

Will  smite  thee  with  that  awful  rod 

Which  thou  wouldst  seize  —  and  pour  on  thee 

The  vial  of  that  wrath,  which  thou 

Wouldst  empty  on  thy  brother's  brow. 


228  RETIREMENT. 


RETIREMENT. 


Happy  is  he  who  knows  not  solitude  ! 
The  hour  when  to  the  world  he  seems  alone 
Is  spent  with  God  !  —  All  cares,  all  passions  lost 
In  most  sublime  abstraction.     Then  his  soul, 
Too  joyous  to  be  bound  to  earth,  upsoars 
And  wings  its  glorious  passage  to  an  orb 
Beyond  philosophy's  proud  ken,  —  the  throne 
Where  the  Divinity  sits  clad  in  light, 
And  gives  his  spirit  welcome  !  he  forgets 
That  he  is  wrapped  in  mortal  clay  —  becomes 
A  presence  all  ethereal,  lifts  his  eye 
Undazzled  towards  the  smiles  of  heavenly  love, 

And  takes  his  seat  with  angels. 

O,  the  ineffable  beatitude, 

Could  it  but  last !  —  But  no  !  too  soon  oppressed 
With  the  vast  blessedness,  and  dragged,  alas  ! 
By  mortal  weakness  from  its  height  of  joy, 
The  soul  sinks  down  to  this  substantial  world, 
And  is  a  clod  again  ! 


SONNET.  229 


SONNET. 


14  Peace  !  "     Shall  the  world  outwearied  ever  see 
Its  universal  reign  ?     Will  states,  will  kings, 
Put  down  those  murderous  and  unholy  things 
Which  fill  the  earth  with  blood  and  misery  ? 
Will  nations  learn  that  love  —  not  enmity  — 
Is  Heaven's  first  lesson  —  which  beneath  the  wings 
Of  mercy,  brooding  over  land  and  sea, 
Fills  earth  with  joy,  by  its  soft  ministerings  ? 
'Twere  a  sad  prospect  —  'twere  a  vista  dark 
As  midnight  —  could  this  wearied  mortal  eye, 
Through  the  dim  mists  that  veil  futurity, 
Discern  not  that  heaven-bright  though  distant  spark, 
Lighted  by  prophecy  —  whose  ray  sublime 
Sheds  a  soft  gleam  of  hope  o'er  the  dull  path  of  time 
20 


230  SONNET. 


SONNET. 

I  hate  that  noisy  drum  !  —  It  is  a  sound 

That's  full  of  war  and  bondage,  and  I  blush 

That  liberty  had  ever  cause  to  rush 

Into  a  warrior's  arms  —  that  right  e'er  found 

Asylum  in  the  furious  field.     Not  so 

The  holy  crowns  of  genuine  glory  grow  — 

Not  there  should  they  who  bear  the  badge  serene 

Of  him  who  was  the  Prince  of  Peace  be  seen. 

Can  such  his  faithful  followers  be  ?  —  O,  no  ! 

His  laurels  are  not  drenched  in  blood,  —  but  green 

And  beautiful  as  spring  ;  —  his  arms  are  love 

And  mercy  and  forgiveness  ;  —  and  with  these 

He  rules  the  nations'  mighty  destinies  — 

And  gently  leads  us  to  our  homes  above. 


SONNET.  231 


SONNET. 

From  time  to  time  there  is  a  warning  voice 
Which,  in  the  various  shapes  of  grief  and  pain 
And  disappointment,  gives  us  hopes,  not  vain, 
That,    sheltered    from   this   mean   world's   turbulent 

noise, 
We  shall  repose  in  silence  —  or  rejoice 
In  living  blessedness  —  where  all  the  train 
Of  mortal  sorrows  enter  not  —  and  reign 
Where  pleasure  never  wanes  and  never  cloys. 
And  these  are  lovely  hopes  —  and  these  alone 
Help  us  the  burden  of  our  woes  to  bear,  — 
While  we  press  forward  to  yon  yet- veiled  throne, 
Whose  twilight  brightness  we  just  see  —  and  hear 
The  music  that  surrounds  it.     Here  we  groan  — 
But  not  a  sigh  or  tear  was  ever  there. 


232  HYMNS. 

HYMNS. 

THE   GOD  OF  GLORY  THUNDERETH, 

Give  unto  the  Lord,  ye  mighty ! 

Strength  and  glory  give  the  Lord  ! 
In  the  beauty  of  devotion 

Praise  His  name  and  bless  His  word  ! 

Hear,  the  God  of  Glory  thundereth, 
Thundereth  on  the  stormy  sea  ; 

Awful  is  that  voice  of  thunder, 
Full  of  might  and  majesty  ! 

Lo !  that  voice  the  cedar  breaketh 

On  the  brow  of  Lebanon, 
And  the  wilderness  of  Kadeth 

Shakes  before  the  Eternal  One  ! 

Now  He  maketh  bare  the  forests, 

And  above  the  lofty  storm, 
Sitting  in  eternal  glory, 

Veiled  in  dazzling  light  His  form. 


OUR  TIMES  ARE  IN  THY  HAND.        233 

There  He  sitteth  —  King  forever, 

Lord  of  all  the  heavenly  powers  ; 

Peace  and  joy  and  glory  giver, 

Let  His  peace  and  joy  be  ours  ! 


OUR  TIMES   ARE   IN  THY   HAND. 

Our  times  are  in  Thy  hand,  and  Thou 
Wilt  guide  our  footsteps  at  Thy  will : 

Lord,  to  Thy  purposes  we  bow, 
Do  Thou  Thy  purposes  fulfil ! 

Life's  mighty  waters  roll  along, 

Thy  spirit  guides  them  as  they  roll ; 

And  waves  on  waves  impetuous  throng 
At  Thy  command,  at  Thy  control. 

Lord,  we  Thy  children  look  to  Thee, 
And  with  an  humble,  prostrate  will, 

Find,  in  Thine  all-sufficiency, 

A  claim  to  love  and  serve  Thee  still. 
20  * 


234    THE   SAVIOR'S  LAMENTATION  OVER  JERUSALEM. 


THE    SAVIOR'S    LAMENTATION    OVER 
JERUSALEM. 

With  heavy  heart  the  Savior  turned 
Towards  the  loved  city  of  his  race. 

And  o'er  its  sinful  history  mourned 
Its  coming  ruin  and  disgrace : 

How  oft  beneath  the  wings  of  love 

Thy  wandering  children  had  I  brought ; 

But  strongest  pleadings  fail  to  move, 

And  heaven-sent  warnings  profit  nought. 

O,  why  so  backward  to  discern 

The  lessons  taught  by  years  to  years  ? 

They  will  not  listen  —  will  not  learn  : 

The  Savior  ceased  —  he  ceased  in  tears. 

That  solemn  voice  is  speaking  yet, 

From  age  to  age  its  echo  flies ; 
And  still  the  lesson  we  forget, 

And  still  the  warning  we  despise. 

The  scourge  of  desolation  swept 

The  holy  city's  holiest  fane, 
In  vain  the  Savior  prayed  and  wept ; 

Still  shall  he  weep  and  pray  in  vain  ? 


JESUS   LIVES  235 


JESUS'  LIVES. 


Jesus  lives,  and  we  in  him, 

Jesus  from  the  grave  is  risen, 
He  hath  burst  the  darkness  dim 

Of  his  narrow  earthly  prison. 
See  him  throned  in  light  ascend 

To  the  highest  heaven  of  glory, 
See  your  brother,  see  your  friend, 

Tracing  out  your  path  before  ye. 

Jesus  lives —  he  is  gone, 

Blessed  mansions  to  prepare  us ; 
Courage,  Christians  !  travel  on, 

Heaven  and  happiness  are  near  us. 
Earth  is  not  the  Christian's  home, 

To  a  better  countiy  tending ; 
Jesus  hath  subdued  the  tomb, 

See  him  o'er  its  clouds  ascending. 

Jesus  lives  —  and  we  shall  live  ; 

Jesus  sits  enthroned  in  heaven  ; 
He  shall  crowns  of  glory  give, 

He  hath  crowns  of  glory  given. 


236  THE    NEW    DISPENSATION. 

Now  the  power  of  death  is  past, 

Christians,  gird  your  armor  on  you  ; 

To  your  friend,  your  brother  haste, 

See,  he  waits  —  he  smiles  upon  you ! 


THE    NEW    DISPENSATION. 

The  cloud,  the  whirlwind,  and  the  wrath, 
The  lightnings  flashing  round  thy  path, 

The  arm  laid  bare,  the  withering  frown, 
The  thunder  and  the  fiery  word, 
Were  Thine  of  old,  terrific  Lord  ! 

And  inaccessible  Thy  throne. 

So  inconceivably  sublime 

And  dreadful  in  the  ancient  time, 

Thou  to  Thine  Abraham's  race  wert  shown 
In  majesty  and  awful  might ; 
In  unapproached  and  dazzling  light, 

The  dread,  unutterable  One  ! 

But  we  Thy  name  may  breathe,  O  Lord, 
And  language  has  no  sweeter  word, 


MYSTERIES  OF  PROVIDENCE.         237 

Nor  thought  a  more  delightful  theme  ; 
Since  all  that  boundless  love  and  light, 
Soul,  sense,  truth,  beauty  can  unite, 

Are  harmonized  in  Thee  Supreme. 

It  was  the  man  of  Nazareth, 

Whose  gentle  hand  and  generous  breath 

Taught  nobler  lessons  from  above  ; 
Taught  all  his  followers  how  to  pray, 
And  bade  them,  Abba,  Father  !  say  — 

Their  Father  God  —  the  God  of  love  ! 


MYSTERIES   OF   PROVIDENCE. 

Lord  !  in  the  unbeginning  years 

Whose  course  is  wrapped  in  trackless  night, 
Ere  Thou  hadst  launched  the  heavenly  spheres, 

Or  waked  this  wandering  world  to  light, 
What  were  Thy  words,  Thy  works,  —  and  how 

Didst  Thou  Thy  glorious  march  record  ? 
For  Thou  wert  great  and  good,  as  now, 

Of  love  the  Source,  of  light  the  Lord. 


238  LOWLY    PRAISE. 

And  in  the  unending  ages,  far 

Beyond  the  utmost  reach  of  mind, 
When  all  that  is,  and  all  that  are, 

Shall  leave  not  e'en  a  wreck  behind, 
O,  what  shall  be  Thy  bright  career, 

Lord  of  the  eternal,  changeless  will  ? 
Thou  wilt  be  there  supreme,  as  here  — 

All-wise  —  all-good  —  almighty  still ! 


Yes  !  shrouded  in  the  mystery, 

The  past,  —  the  future's  dark  abyss, 
Bright  clouds  of  splendor  circle  Thee, 

And  light  Thy  path  from  bliss  to  bliss. 
This  is  our  faith,  our  hope,  our  trust, 

Through  thought's  immeasurable  range  ; 
Time  is  a  dream,  and  man  is  dust  — 

But  Thou  —  but  Thou  canst  never  change  ! 


LOWLY   PRAISE. 

Lord  !  in  heaven,  Thy  dwelling-place, 
Hear  the  praises  of  our  race, 
And  while  hearing,  let  Thy  grace 
Dews  of  sweet  forgiveness  pour  ! 


PRESERVATION    IMPLORED.  239 

While  we  know,  benignant  King ! 
That  the  praises  which  we  bring 
Are  a  worthless  offering 

Till  Thy  blessing  makes  it  more. 

More  of  truth,  and  more  of  might, 

More  of  love,  and  more  of  light, 

More  of  reason  and  of  right, 

From  Thy  pardoning  grace  be  given  ; 
It  can  make  the  humblest  song 
Sweet,  acceptable,  and  strong, 
As  the  strains  the  angel  throng 

Pour  around  the  throne  of  heaven. 


PRESERVATION  IMPLORED. 

From  all  evil,  all  temptation 
That  besets  our  earthly  path, 
From  Thy  final  condemnation, 
From  Thy  transitory  wrath, 
God  of  goodness  !  us  deliver  ! 
And  Thy  name  be  praised  forever  ! 

From  a  heart  of  hate  and  blindness, 
From  all  envy,  treachery,  pride, 


240  PRESERVATION  IMPLORED. 

From  all  harshness,  all  unkindness, 
All  to  sin  or  shame  allied, 
God  of  goodness  !  us  deliver  ! 
And  Thy  name  be  praised  forever  ! 

From  the  world's  deceitful  pleasures, 
From  its  soul-invading  snares, 
From  the  plotter's  darkened  measures, 
Foolish  thoughts  and  trifling  cares, 
God  of  goodness  !  us  deliver  ! 
And  Thy  name  be  praised  forever  ! 

From  the  tempest  and  the  lightning, 
Thunder's  rage  and  battle's  breath, 
Pestilence,  plagues,  famine's  blightening 
Sudden  and  untimely  death, 
God  of  goodness  !  us  deliver ! 
And  Thy  name  be  praised  forever  ! 

In  the  time  of  tribulation, 

In  the  bright  and  prosperous  way, 

In  the  hour  of  life's  prostration, 

In  the  final  judgment  day, 

God  of  goodness  !  us  deliver  ! 

And  Thy  name  be  praised  forever  ! 


VOYAGE.  24 1 


VOYAGE. 


Who  hath  o'er  the  ocean  been, 
In  its  dignity  serene, 
Clear  and  smooth  as  polished  glass, 
Shining  as  a  silver  mass  ; 

He  its  Maker's  face  will  see 

In  that  quiet  majesty,  — 

Calm  but  mighty  field  of  light, 

Bright  with  smiles,  with  sunbeams  bright. 

Who  hath  heard  the  ocean  swell, 
In  its  fuiy  terrible, 
When  by  raging  tempests  driven, 
Shaking  earth  and  storming  heaven  ; 

He  may  deem  how  grand,  how  great, 
Is  the  Almighty  Potentate, 
God,  to  whom  the  ocean's  might 
Is  as  nought  to  infinite. 

21  p 


242  PIOUS    WORSHIP. 


PIOUS   WORSHIP. 

In  Thy  courts  let  peace  be  found, 
Be  Thy  temple  full  of  love ; 

There  we  tread  on  holy  ground, 
All  serene,  around,  above. 

While  the  knee  in  prayer  is  bent, 

While  with  praise  the  heart  o'erflows, 

Tranquillize  the  turbulent ! 

Give  the  weary  one  repose  ! 

Be  the  place  for  worship  meet, 

Meet  the  worship  for  the  place  ; 

^Contemplation's  best  retreat, 

Shrine  of  guilelessness  and  grace  ! 

As  an  infant  knows  its  home, 

Lord  !  may  we  Thy  temples  know  ; 
Thither  for  instruction  come  — 

Thence  by  Thee  instructed  go. 


PROGRESS  OF  GOSPEL  TRUTH.         243 


PROGRESS   OF   GOSPEL   TRUTH. 

Upon  the  gospel's  sacred  page 

The  gathered  beams  of  ages  snine ; 

And  as  it  hastens,  every  age 

But  makes  its  brightness  more  divine. 

On  mightier  wing,  in  loftier  flight, 

From  year  to  year  does  knowledge  soar  ; 

And  as  it  soars,  the  gospel  light 

Adds  to  its  influence  more  and  more. 

Truth,  strengthened  by  the  strength  of  thought, 

Pours  inexhaustible  supplies, 
Whence  sagest  teachers  may  be  taught, 

And  wisdom's  self  become  more  wise. 

More  glorious  still  as  centuries  roll, 

New  regions  blessed,  new  powers  unfurled, 
Expanding  with  the  expanding  soul, 

Its  waters  shall  o'erflow  the  world. 

Flow  to  restore  —  but  not  destroy  ; 

As  when  the  cloudless  lamp  of  day 
Pours  out  its  floods  of  light  and  joy, 

And  sweeps  each  lingering  mist  away. 


244  death's  ravages  in  the  house  of  prayer. 


DEATH'S   RAVAGES   IN  THE   HOUSE    OF 
PRAYER. 

From  time  to  time  I  look  around, 

And  trace  the  ravage  death  has  made  ;* 

And  in  the  peopled  burial  ground 

Watch  the  still-congregating  dead. 

With  thoughtful  eye  the  crowds  I  count, 
Who  in  God's  temple  come  to  pray  — 

Of  friends  how  dwindled  the  amount ! 

How  many  gone  —  how  many  gray  ! 

Of  those  with  whom  my  childhood  prayed, 
Some  scattered  —  and  deserters  some  ; 

And  many  —  O,  how  many  !  —  laid 
In  cold  oblivion's  narrow  home. 

The  generations  onward  urge, 

Impatiently  as  wave  on  wave  ; 
And  as  the  sea  absorbs  the  surge, 

So  sink  the  nations  in  the  grave. 


THE  RICH  AND  POOR  MEET  TOGETHER.    245 

But  what's  the  sea,  and  what  the  grave  ? 

What  but  the  storehouse  of  the  Lord  ? 
Who  sows  to  reap,  and  smites  to  save, 

And  guards  his  sons  for  their  reward. 


THE   RICH  AND   POOR  MEET  TOGETHER. 

Come  the  rich  and  come  the  poor 
To  the  Christian  temple  door  ; 
Let  their  mingled  prayers  ascend 
To  the  universal  Friend. 

Here  the  rich  and  poor  may  claim 
Common  ancestry  and  name  ; 
Claim  a-common  heritage 
In  the  gospel's  promise  page. 

Of  the  same  materials  wrought ; 
By  the  same  instructor  taught ; 
Walking  in  life's  common  way ; 
Tending  to  the  same  decay. 
21* 


246  GOD    MIGHTY    TO    SAVE. 

Rich  and  poor  at  last  shall  meet 
At  the  heavenly  mercy  seat ; 
Where  the  name  of  rich  and  poor 
Never  shall  be  uttered  more. 


GOD   MIGHTY   TO  SAVE. 

Who  shall  roll  away  the  stone 

From  the  sepulchre  ? 
God  !  the  Almighty  God  alone 

Is  almighty  here. 

Who  remould  the  mortal  earth 
Wrapped  in  cold  decay  ? 

Who  shall  call  to  second  birth 
That  forgotten  clay  ? 

Millions  sleep  of  mortal  men 
'Neath  the  senseless  sod  — 

Who  shall  call  them  forth  again 
But  the  Almighty  God  ! 

He  who  heavenly  angels  sent, 
Clad  in  snowy  vest, 


GOD   NEAR    IN    SORROW.  247 

Radiant  and  beneficent, 
To  the  Savior's  rest ; 

He  who  from  that  rest  awoke 

Our  triumphant  Lord, 
He  who  in  the  silence  spoke 

The  majestic  word  : 

"  I  from  death  the  soul  will  save,  — 

I,  the  Almighty  One, 
Build  upon  man's  mortal  grave 

Heaven's  immortal  throne." 


GOD    NEAR    IN    SORROW.  —  [l.  m.] 

O,  sweet  it  is  to  know,  to  feel, 

In  all  our  gloom,  our  wanderings  here, 
No  night  of  sorrow  can  conceal 

Man  from  Thy  notice,  from  Thy  care. 

When  disciplined  by  long  distress, 

And  led  through  paths  of  fear  and  woe ; 

Say,  dost  Thou  love  Thy  children  less  ? 
No,  ever-gracious  Father,  no ! 


248  REMEMBRANCE    OF    THE    RIGHTEOUS. 

No  distance  can  outreach  Thine  eye, 
No  night  obscure  Thy  endless  day  ; 

Be  this  my  comfort  when  I  sigh, 

Be  this  my  safeguard  when  I  stray. 


THE     RIGHTEOUS    SHALL    BE    IN    EVER. 
LASTING    REMEMBRANCE. 

Earth's  transitory  things  decay, 
Its  pomps,  its  pleasures  pass  away  ; 
But  the  sweet  memory  of  the  good 
Survives  in  the  vicissitude. 

As  'midst  the  ever-rolling  sea, 

The  eternal  isles  established  be 

'Gainst  which  the  surges  of  the  main 

Fret,  dash,  and  break  themselves  in  vain  ,  — 

As  in  the  heavens  the  urns  divine, 

Of  golden  light,  forever  shine  ; 

Though  clouds  may  darken,  storms  may  rage, 

They  still  shine  on  from  age  to  age  ;  — 

So  through  the  ocean  tide  of  years, 
The  memory  of  the  just  appears  ; 


HELP    THOU    MY    UNBELIEF.  249 

So  through  the  tempest  and  the  gloom, 
The  good  man's  virtues  light  the  tomb. 

Happy  the  righteous !  come  what  may, 
Though  heaven  dissolve  and  earth  decay ; 
Happy  the  righteous  man  !  for  he 
Belongs  to  immortality. 


HELP   THOU   MY  UNBELIEF. 

If  listening,  as  I  listen  still, 

O  God  !  to  Thine  instructive  word, 
In  spite  of  all  my  spirit's  will, 

Some  whispering  voice  of  doubt  is  heard,  - 
That  voice  spontaneous  from  the  soul, 
Which  nought  can  check  and  nought  control ; 

If  when  most  earnestly  I  pray 

For  light,  for  aid,  for  strength  from  Thee, 
Some  struggling  thoughts  will  force  their  way, 

And  break  my  soul's  serenity  ;  — 
If  reason,  thy  best  gift,  will  hold 
The  sceptre  only  half  controlled  ;  — ' 


250  REJOICE    WITH    TREMBLING. 

Help  and  forgive  !  heaven's  alphabet 
Hath  many  a  word  of  mystery  : 

I  read  not  all  Thy  record  yet, 
Though  perseveringly  I  try  ; 

But  teach  me,  Lord !  and  none  shall  be 

More  prompt,  more  pleased  to  learn  of  Thee 


REJOICE   WITH   TREMBLING. 

Rejoice  !  rejoice  !  this  glorious  earth, 

A  far  more  glorious  heaven  resembling, 

Is  vocal  with  the  sound  of  mirth  : 

Rejoice  !  but  O,  rejoice  with  trembling ! 

For  soon  those  chords  with  joy  that  thrill, 
Time's  ruthless  hand  will  snap  asunder, 

And  that  sweet  music  shall  be  still 

Which   waked   such   passion,   praise   and   won- 
der. 

Rejoice  !  for  there  is  cause  for  joy, 

And  warm  and  cordial  be  our  greeting ; 

Yet  tremble  —  bliss  hath  this  alloy, 

That  it  is  far  less  bright  than  fleeting. 


mechanics'  institutions. 


MECHANICS'   INSTITUTIONS. 

Mighty  is  the  power  that  gives 
Hope  and  bliss  to  all  that  lives  ; 
While  man's  happy  lot  is  this, 
First  in  hope,  and  first  in  bliss. 

Of  the  joys  that  fill  his  breast, 
Joys  of  knowledge  are  the  best ; 
Linked  to  his  diviner  part, 
O,  they  purify  his  heart ! 

Sweet  it  is  when  evening's  sun 
Smiles  on  daily  labors  done ; 
And  the  laborer  comes  to  slake 
Thirst  for  truth  at  wisdom's  lake. 

As  he  drinks,  the  generous  stream 
Strengthens  and  enlightens  him  ; 
While  his  well-trained  mind  is  taught 
Higher  views  and  nobler  thought. 

Then  and  thus  he  learns  to  scan 
All  the  dignity  of  man  ; 
Then  and  thus  he  soars  sublime 
O'er  the  wretched  cares  of  time. 


252  COMMUNION. 


COMMUNION. 

Not  with  terror  do  we  meet 

At  the  board  by  Jesus  spread  ; 

Not  in  mystery  drink  and  eat 

Of  the  Savior's  wine  and  bread. 

'Tis  his  memory  we  record, 

'Tis  his  virtues  we  proclaim  ; 

Grateful  to  our  honored  Lord, 

Here  we  bless  his  sacred  name. 

See  him  on  the  dreadful  day 

Of  his  mortal  agony 
Break  the  bread  ;  and  hear  him  say, 

"  Eat  of  this  and  think  of  me  !  M 

See  him  standing  on  the  brink 

Of  the  tomb,  and  hark  !  he  cries, 

"  Drink  the  wine,  and  as  you  drink, 
O,  remember  him  who  dies !  " 

Yes  !  we  will  remember  thee, 

Friend  and  Savior  !  and  thy  feast 

Of  all  services  shall  be 

Holiest  and  welcomest. 


PERPETUAL    PRAISE  253 


PERPETUAL   PRAISE. 


When,  wakened  by  Thy  voice  of  power, 
The  hour  of  morning  beams  in  light, 

My  voice  shall  sing  that  morning  hour, 

And  Thee  who  mad'st  that  hour  so  bright. 

The  morning  strengthens  into  noon, 

Earth's  fairest  beauties  shine  more  fair ; 

And  noon  and  morning  shall  attune 

My  grateful  heart  to  praise  and  prayer. 

When  'neath  the  evening's  western  gate 
The  sun's  retiring  rays  are  hid, 

My  joy  shall  be  to  meditate, 

Even  as  the  pious  patriarch  did. 

As  twilight  wears  a  darker  hue, 

And  gathering  night  creation  dims, 

The  twilight  and  the  midnight  too 

Shall  have  their  harmonies  and  hymns. 

So  shall  sweet  thoughts,  and  thoughts  sublime, 

My  constant  inspirations  be  ; 
And  every  shifting  scene  of  time 

Reflect,  my  God !  a  light  from  Thee. 
22 


254  ELEVATING    INFLUENCE    OF    DEVOTION, 


ELEVATING  INFLUENCE   OF  DEVOTION. 

When  pure  devotion  lifts  the  soul 

To  holier  thoughts  and  higher  spheres, 

New  orbs  of  beauty  round  us  roll, 

A  lovelier  light  pervades  the  whole, 
And  softer  music  charms  the  ears. 

Not  to  this  valley's  dark  abyss,  — 

Not  to  this  narrow  world  confined, 
Is  man  ;  for  nobler  scenes  than  this,  — 
For  vaster  worlds,  for  mightier  bliss, 
For  higher  realms  was  man  designed 

O,  be  it  ours  to  know,  to  feel 

The  upward  impulse  ;  still  to  rise, 
As  turns  life's  ever-moving  wheel, 
Till  stopped  by  death,  —  and  death  reveal 
The  opening  splendors  of  the  skies. 


GOD    MERCIFUL    IN    AFFLICTION.  255 


GOD   MERCIFUL    IN    THE    MYSTERIES   OF 
AFFLICTION.    . 

Mysterious  are  the  ways  of  God, 

And  fear  and  blindness  oft  repin.3  ; 

We  murmur  'neath  His  chastening  rod, 
Because  we  read  not  His  design. 

,  Impending  clouds  His  love  has  spread 

O'er  this  low  vale  where  mortals  dwell ; 
And  oft  we  mourn  His  spirit  fled 

When  adverse  tempests  round  us  swell. 

But  in  those  storms  that  sometimes  roll 
Our  mortal  dwellings  dark  above, 
'   Whose  threatening  shades  dismay  the  soul, 
Dwells  the  bright  presence  of  His  love. 

We  cannot  see  Him  —  not  a  ray 

Of  all  His  glory  there  appears, 
And  oft  we  thread  our  darkened  way, 

Trembling  with  anxious  doubts  and  fears. 


256  AFFLICTIONS. 

Yet  faith  still  looks  beyond  the  gloom, 

While  hope's  bright  star  illumes  our  night ; 

Pilgrims  of  earth !  though  dark  the  tomb, 
It  leads  to  scenes  of  bliss  and  light. 


AFFLICTIONS. 

On  lightbeams  breaking  from  above, 
The  eternal  course  of  mercy  runs ; 

And  by  ten  thousand  cords  of  love 

Our  heavenly  Father  guides  His  sons. 

Amidst  affliction's  thickest  host, 

And  sorrow's  darkest,  mightiest  band, 

The  heavenly  cord  is  drawn  the  most, 
And  most  is  felt  the  heavenly  hand. 

O,  be  it  mine  to  feel,  to  see, 

Through  earth's  perplexed  and  varying  road, 
The  cords  that  link  us,  God,  to  Thee, 

And  draw  us  to  Thine  own  abode  ! 


SICKNESS.  257 


SICKNESS. 

All  have  joys  that  throw  their  brightness 
Over  life's  mysterious  way ; 

All  have  griefs  that  fling  their  darkness 
Round  the  fairest  hours  of  day. 

Peace  will  often  fix  its  mansion 
Near  the  noisy  tents  of  strife  ; 

Death  is  mightiest  in  its  conquests, 
'Midst  the  busiest  fields  of  life. 

So  in  health's  delighted  moments, 
rPain  and  sickness  will  intrude  ; 

Now,  the  world  of  rush  and  tumult  — 
Now,  the  chamber's  solitude. 

« 
Sickness  —  eloquent  instructor ! 

Nurse  of  thought,  and  check  of  pride  ■ 
Leveller  of  earth's  distinctions  ! 

Harsh  —  but  yet  a  heavenly  guide. 
22*  Q 


258  RECOVERY    OF   HEALTH. 

O,  when  He  who  chastening,  loveth, 
Bends  me  'neath  its  discipline, 

May  the  lesson  taught  divinely 
Bear  its  influence  divine ! 


RECOVERY  OF    HEALTH. 

How  bright  are  the  smiles  of  the  dawn ! 

How  lovely  the  waking  of  spring  ! 
How  fragrant  the  flowers  of  the  lawn  ! 

How  joyous  the  bird  on  its  wing ! 
But  if  summer  and  springtide  be  bright, 

If  the  bird  and  the  flower  give  delight, 
Delight  becomes  rapture,  when,  freed  from  hisvpain, 

The  sick  man  goes  forth  from  his  chamber  again. 

The  earth  is  a  splendid  display 

Of  all  that  is  lovely  and  grand ; 
And  the  heavens,  how  glorious  are  they, 

With  their  worlds  and  their  wonders  unscanned ! 
But  let  him  all  their  wonders  reveal, 

He  best  all  their  wonders  can  feel, 
Whom  suffering  has  chained  to  a  sick  bed,  —  but  who, 

Released,  comes  to  wonder  and  worship  anew. 


LIGHT   IN    DARKNESS.  259 

Health  borrows  from  sickness  its  zest, 

As  the  stars  from  the  darkness  their  rays  : 
And  of  all  wisdom's  lessons,  the  best 

Are  those  the  All-wise  One  conveys ; 
Be  we  lowly  learners  !  and  still, 

While  we  watch  and  we  wait  on  His  will, 

Let  that  will,  like  the  sunbeams  which  burst  from 
above, 

Bear  light  to  our  bosoms,  and  calmness  and  love. 


LIGHT   IN   DARKNESS. 

Oft  when  the  gathering  clouds  of  woe 
The  mercy  source  of  light  eclipse, 

Thoughts  which  the  bosom  overflow, 

Break  out  in  murmurs  from  the  lips. 

Dark  is  the  memory  of  the  past, 

Dark  the  approaching  days  to  come  ; 

And  darker  yet  the  shades  which  cast 

O'er  passing  hours  their  present  gloom. 

When  shall  that  thickening  gloom  disperse, 

God's  heavenly  sunshine  breaking  through  ? 


260  JOY  AFTER    SORROW. 

When  shall  the  glorious  universe 

"Wear  cheerful  robes  and  smile  anew  ? 

O,  if  distrust,  and  if  despair 

Usurp  the  sceptre  of  the  soul, 

How  should  God's  brightness  enter  there, 
To  comfort,  counsel  and  control  ? 

But  let  thy  heart  the  thoughts  dismiss, 

Which  doubt,  or  censure,  or  complain, 

And  soon  a  very  tide  of  bliss 

Shall  rush  into  that  heart  again. 


JOY  AFTER   SORROW. 

As,  when  the  deluge  wares  were  gone, 

Hills,  plains  and  vales  in  freshness  burst, 

And  nature's  earliest  rainbow  shone 

On  scenes  more  lovely  than  the  first : 

Loosed  from  the  ark,  a  heavenly  dove 

The  promise  branch  of  olive  bore,  — 

Pledge  of  returning  peace  and  love 

That  beamed  more  brightly  than  before  : 


TEMPTATION.  2G1 

So  when  affliction's  waters  slide 

From  the  enfranchised  soul  away, 

More  peaceful,  pure,  and  sanctified, 
The  soul  emerges  into  day. 

And  then,  as  with  the  olive  bough 

The  heavenly  dove  of  old  drew  near, 

Some  gentle  words  of  truth  will  flow 
In  holy  music  on  the  ear. 

O'er  all  the  transient  things  of  time, 

The  oblivious  foot  of  years  hath  trod  ; 

But  all  that 's  sacred  and  sublime 

Stands  steadfast  as  the  truth  of  God. 


TEMPTATION. 

O,  what  a  struggle  wakes  within, 
When  in  the  spirit's  solitude, 

The  tempting  treacherous  thoughts  of  sin, 
In  all  their  luring  smiles  intrude  ! 

'T  is  then,  my  Father !  then  I  feel 

My  nature's  weakness,  and,  oppressed, 


262  RICHES. 

Like  a  poor  trembling  child  I  steal 
To  Thee,  for  safety  and  for  rest. 

Beneath  Thy  shadow  let  me  live  ! 

Be  Thou  my  Friend  —  my  Father  be  ! 
I  bend  in  trust  —  I  pray !  forgive 

The  erring  child  that  flies  to  Thee  ! 


RICHES. 

Ten  thousand  blessings  are  my  lot, 
For  which  my  hands  have  labored  not ; 
To  me  the  accident  of  birth 
Has  brought  the  various  gifts  of  earth. 

Some  toil  from  morn  to  eve,  and  then 
Toil  from  the  morn  to  eve  again  ; 
And  all  their  wearying  toil  can  give 
Is  but  the  privilege  to  live  :  — 

To  live  —  to  toil  —  and  toil  anew, 
Life's  never-ceasing  journey  through  ; 
While  I,  without  a  thought  to  tire, 
Desire,  and  luxuries  meet  desire. 


POVERTY.  263 

Yet  Heaven  hath  not  these  luxuries  given,  • 
To  reach  forgetfulness  of  heaven ! 
No  !  but  that,  freed  from  care,  the  mind 
Should  higher,  worthier  objects  find. 

To  me  be  wealth  as  wealth  was  meant, 
All  grace,  all  virtue's  nourishment : 
No  bondage  to  the  world,  —  but  mine 
In  trust  for  purposes  divine. 


POVERTY. 

The  all-embracing  Mind  that  planned 
The  world,  and  all  that  it  contains, 

Distributes  with  an  equal  hand, 

To  each  his  pleasures  and  his  pains. 

The  sons  of  poverty  may  press 

Around  the  wealthy's  gorgeous  door 

But  wealth  has  its  own  weariness, 

And  there  are  blessings  for  the  poor. 

There  *s  many  a  passion,  many  a  pain, 
And  fears,  and  jealousies,  and  cares, 


264   I  WILL  LAY  ME  DOWN  IN  PEACE,  AND  SLEEP. 

That  wear  the  heart  and  rack  the  brain, 
Which  poverty  its  victims  spares. 

And  many  a  joy  to  wealth  denied, 

Smiles  on  the  poor  his  lot  t'  assuage ; 

Peace  hath  its  noble  thoughts  like  pride, 
And  poverty  its  heritage. 

Toil  has  its  triumph  —  strength  and  health, 
And  bouyant  spirits,  labor  brings ; 

While  wealth  is  fugitive,  —  for  wealth 
Hath  slippery  feet  and  ready  wings. 


I  WILL  LAY  ME  DOWN  IN  PEACE,  AND 
SLEEP. 

The  labors  of  the  day  are  done ; 

And  O,  how  exquisitely  blest, 
Who,  with  the  calm,  declining  sun, 

Retire  in  holy  peace  to  rest ! 

Thrice  blest  beneath  their  Guardian's  smile, 
And  tranquil  as  the  heavens  above, 

To  sleep  —  securely  sleep,  a  while 

In  the  kind  arms  of  heavenly  love ; 


LOVE    OF   HOME.  265 

With  no  reproaching  voice  within 

To  break  upon  the  calm  of  bliss ; 
As  evenings  earliest  dews  serene, 

And  gentle  as  the  twilight  is. 

Alas  !  the  brightest  and  the  best 

Of  earthly  pleasures  soon  decay  ; 
The  sweetest  and  the  loveliest 

Glide,  like  a  passing  breeze,  away. 

But  saints  from  death,  itself  shall  rise, 

Renewed  by  heaven's  immortal  spring ; 

And  in  the  garden  of  the  skies    * 
Bloom  in  eternal  blossoming. 


LOVE   OF   HOME. 

Some  spot  there  is,  some  cherished  spot, 
We  love,  all  other  spots  above ; 

And  few  so  wretched  that  have  not 
Some  early-cherished  spot  to  love. 

The  mountain  heights  are  dear  to  some, 
To  some  the  valley's  deep  recess  ; 
22 


266  HOME   JOYS. 

To  some  the  desert  is  a  home, 

With  thoughts  to  cheer  and  joys  to  bless. 

To  some  the  tempest-troubled  sea 

Is  music ;  —  while  the  snows  and  ice 

That  gird  earth's  arctic  scenery, 

To  some  bring  dreams  of  paradise. 

The  fervor  of  the  tropic  beams,  — 

The  darkness  of  deep  woods,  —  the  fall 

Of  dangerous  cataract-shaken  streams,  — 
All  scatter  joys  around  them  —  all. 

Yes !  all,  some  spot,  some  cherished  spot, 
Love,  every  other  spot  above ; 

And  none  so  destitute  as  not 

To  have  some  spot  on  earth  to  love. 


HOME  JOYS. 

Sweet  are  the  joys  of  home, 

And  pure  as  sweet ;  for  they, 

Like  dews  of  morn  and  evening,  come 
To  wake  and  close  the  day. 


HOME   JOYS.  267 

The  world  hath  its  delights, 

And  its  delusions  too  : 
But  home  to  calmer  bliss  invites, 

More  tranquil  and  more  true. 

The  mountain  flood  is  strong, 

But  fearful  in  its  pride  ; 
While  gently  rolls  the  stream  along 

The  peaceful  valley's  side. 

Life's  charities,  like  light, 

Spread  smilingly  afar ; 
But  stars  approached,  become  more  bright 

And  home  is  life's  own  star. 

The  pilgrim's  step  in  vain 

Seeks  Eden's  sacred  ground ; 
But  in  home's  holy  joys,  again 

An  Eden  may  be  found. 

A  glance  of  heaven  to  see, 

To  none  on  earth  is  given ; 
And  yet  a  happy  family 

Is  but  an  earlier  heaven. 


268  HOME    SORROWS. 


HOME   SORROWS. 

There  is  no  spot,  or  high  or  low, 

"Which  darkness  visits  not  at  times  ; 

No  shelter  from  the  reach  of  woe, 

In  farthest  lands  or  fairest  climes. 

The  tempests  shake  the  stoutest  tree, 
And  every  floweret  droops  in  turn  : 

To  mourn  is  nature's  destiny, 

And  all  that  live  must  live  to  mourn. 

No  home  so  happy,  but  that  pain. 

And  grief,  and  care,  the  doors  will  press, 
When  love's  most  anxious  thoughts  are  vain, 

More  anxious  from  their  helplessness. 

And  yet,  if  aught  can  soften  grief, 

'T  is  home's  sweet  influence  :  —  if  there  be 
Relief  from  sorrow,  that  relief 

Springs  from  domestic  sympathy. 

The  home  that  virtue  hallows,  flings     • 
Another  bliss  o'er  blessedness  ; 

And  e'en  to  sorrow's  children  brings 
Or  peace  to  calm,  or  hope  to  ble=? 


TRAVEL.  269 


TRAVEL. 


How  wide,  how  wondrous  is  the  world  ! 

A  multitudinous  record, 
Whose  every,  every  page  unfurled, 

Tells  the  bright  glories  of  the  Lord ! 

But  of  that  great,  that  splendid  book, 

Where  all  is  wise,  and  good,  and  true, 

O,  who  hath  looked,  or  who  can  look, 
The  innumerable  pages  through  ?    . 

Traverse  the  ocean,  walk  the  land, 

Wend  over  forest,  field,  and  hill ;  — 

Thou  hast  not  yet  the  title  scanned  — 
The  book's  unread,  —  unopened  still 

Mysterious  Author  !  work  sublime  ! 

How  sweet  to  know  —  to  feel  —  to  see 
That  earth,  and  heaven,  and  space,  and  time, 

Are  filled  with  words  of  love  from  Thee ! 
23* 


270  FAMILY   MEETINGS. 


FAMILY  MEETINGS. 

Scattered  o'er  various  fields  by  Heaven, 
Through  various  pathways  led  ; 

What  happiness  in  peace  to  meet 
Around  a  common  head ! 

To  talk  of  mercies  shared  by  all, 
Of  hopes  that  virtues  raise  ; 

And  in  the  general  bliss  enjoyed, 
•To  join  in  general  praise  ! 

The  pleasures  of  the  past  recall, 

And  tell  the  tales  a2:ain 
Of  infant  dreams,  and  childhood's  joys, 

And  youth's  delightful  reign  ;  — 

And  then  the  strange  vicissitudes 

Of  manhood  to  compare  ; 
And  mark  how  wonderful,  how  kind, 

Heaven's  dispensations  are  ;  — 

To  plan  the  schemes  of  future  bliss  ; 
Rejoicing  to  confess, 


RETURN    HOME    FROM    TRAVEL.  271 

That  He  whose  love  hath  blessed  the  past, 
The  future,  too,  will  bless. 

Thus  the  domestic  hearth  is  made 

Both  love  and  virtue's  shrine, 
And  thus  earth's  dross  is  purified, 

And  man  becomes  divine. 


RETURN  HOME  FROM  TRAVEL. 

The  bee  hath  its  domestic  cell, 
The  wandering  bird,  its  nest ; 

The  beast,  its  lair  in  forest  dell, 
And  man,  his  home  of  rest. 

And  tired  with  toil,  with  travel  tired, 
The  beast,  the  bird,  the  bee, 

By  common  impulse  all  inspired, 
Seek  home's  sweet  secrecy. 

Man,  winged  for  farther,  bolder  flight, 
Privileged  o'er  earth  to  roam, 


272  BIRTH. 

Still  bends  with  ever  new  delight 
Towards  his  native  home. 

Home,  made  more  sacred,  made  more  dear, 
When  travels  far  have  taught 

How  much  about  the  heart  —  how  near 
Life's  early  chains  are  wrought 

Those  chains  around  the  heart  remain, 
Through  every  absent  hour  ; 

And  nought  can  free  us  from  the  chain 
But  home's  enchanting  power. 


BIRTH. 

O,  what  a  cloud  of  anxious  thought, 
And  serious  cares  and  claims,  are  brought 

By  that  sweet  child,  whose  calm  repose 
Is  troubled  not  by  thought  or  care, 
Though  destined,  as  all  mortals  are, 

To  mortal  wants  and  mortal  woes  ! 

The  journey  of  our  life  begins 
Neither  in  sorrows  nor  in  sins  ; 


BAPTISM.  273 

They  come,  as  tempests  come  to  earth, 
And  clouds  to  heaven  ;  sweet  child !  for  thee, 
Few  may  thy  sins  and  sorrows  be, 

And  bright  thy  death,  as  bright  thy  birth. 

No  more !  we  would  not  seek  to  know 
The  secrets  of  thy  lot  below ; 

Time  will  unveil  them :  to  the  care 
Of  Heaven  our  offspring  we  commend, 
And  suppliant  for  its  blessing  bend, 

In  grateful,  reverential  prayer. 


BAPTISM. 

Drop  the  limpid  waters  now, 
On  the  infant's  sinless  brow ; 
Dedicate  the  unfolding  gem, 
Unto  Him,  who  blessed  the  stem. 

Let  our  aspirations  be 

Innocent  as  infancy ; 

Pure  the  prayers  that  force  their  way, 

As  the  child  for  whom  we  pray. 

R 


274  BURIAL. 

In  the  Christian  garden  we 
•       Plant  another  Christian  tree ; 
Be  its  blossoms  and  its  fruit 
Worthy  of  the  Christian  root. 

To  that  garden  now  we  bring 
Waters  from  the  living  spring ; 
Bless  the  tree,  the  waters  bless, 
Holy  One !  with  holiness. 

When  life's  harvests  all  are  past, 
O,  transplant  the  tree  at  last, 
To  the  fields  where  flower  and  tree 
Blossom  through  eternity ! 


BURIAL. 

•  Gather  up,  O  earth  !  thy  dead ; 
Grass !  thy  peaceful  pillow  spread, 
Add  another  mortal's  bed 

To  the  bed  where  mortals  sleep : 
Where  they  sleep  —  but  not  to  rise 
When  morn's  sunlight  clears  the  skies, 
But  to  rest  —  while  centuries 

Their  long-during  watches  keep. 


BURIAL.  275 

Centuries  shall  pass  away  ; 
Earth  shall  hasten  to  decay : 
Days  will  bring  of  days  the  day 

When  the  exhausted  cycles  end ; 
Then,  —  earth's  every  fugitive 
Shall  appear ;  —  the  grave  shall  give 
Up  its  dead  —  the  dead  shall  live,  — 

And  the  Eternal  Judge  descend. 

Day  of  wonders !  day  of  woe ! 

Day  of  evil's  overthrow  ! 

Day  of  joy !  when  all  shall  know  — 

Know  and  see  the  Lord  of  heaven ! 
Then,  O  then,  may  hope  appear, 
Faith  our  fainting  spirits  cheer, 
Love  dry  up  the  trembling  tear, 

Whispering  sweetly,  "  Sins  forgiven ! " 


276  SATURDAY   NIGHT. 


SATURDAY  NIGHT. 

The  week  is  past !  its  latest  ray 
Is  vanished  with  the  closing  day  ; 
And  'tis  as  far  beyond  our  grasp, 
Its  now  departed  hours  to  clasp, 
As  to  recall  that  moment  bright 
When  first  creation  sprung  to  light. 

The  week  is  past !     And  has  it  brought 
Some  beams  of  sweet  and  soothing  thought  ? 
And  has  it  left  some  memory  dear 
Of  heavenly  raptures  tasted  here  ? 
It  has  not  winged  its  flight  in  vain, 
Although  it  ne'er  return  again. 

And  who  would  sigh  for  its  return  ? 
We  are  but  pilgrims,  born  to  mourn ; 
And  moments,  as  they  onward  flow, 
Cut  short  the  thread  of  human  woe, 
And  bring  us  nearer  to  the  scenes 
Where  sorrows  end  and  heaven  begins. 


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